Out in the parking lot behind the
bar, a moonlight night, cornfield stubble,
a train going by in the distance.
Broken music ringing in your ears, fragments
of guitar, faulty monitors, feedback,
shit vocals you’re sure no one could hear.
Smoking a cigarette, pondering the
course that got you here, knowing
you wouldn’t change anything,
there is no high like when the band plays.
You are the luckiest girl in the world.
Some guys help their drunk friend to his
car, they don’t notice you standing there.
You were a star a few minutes ago, but now
you’re just one shadow of many.
The glow from your cigarette,
the lonely fields,
the heavy air.
by Cher Bibler
this picture is by my friend, Emaus Torres, and it’s used with permission