Death of Levon Helm Alt Country Blues Poem
I'm washed up and the tribe is thinning.
Lunch can be hit or miss — either way
if I'm not hungry afterward
what's to complain about?
Turns out extinction is not the issue,
not if the formats are steeped in formaldehyde
and there is a regular circus.
I'm worried when I get the box home
I'll have two shoes for one foot and none
for the other which will make me walk in circles
like the groupies around Robbie Robertson
in 1969 must have.
Summer came in ahead of spring this year.
Funny how we all just take it lying down.
No one has the guts to switch out the months.
Drum up some reaction, however screwy —
call April August, March June —
give notice we noticed.
— Sharon Black