Robert McAdams
Celebration
The tall gray-beard sits in the corner
In stained polyester
Drinking a slow death called celebration
The bar is full of ordinary strangers
But he sees only one face
The fireworks exploding! The joy of life exploding!
With the loud crack and the flash of red, white, and blue!
Teenagers with their fast music, old-timers with their slow music,
Welcoming the "coming of an age"!
But every beginning
Is itself an end
His daughter died in 1965
Her body shook its death-quiver to the very last seconds
Brought on by a new recreation
Enjoyed a little too frequently
Dead now for thirty-five years
The man, too, is removed from the world
His own drum beating
Doom, boom, doom
A lonely slouching creature
Brooklyn for his Bethlehem
O the lights! The sounds! The music!
Crowd chanting down the last few seconds!
Mothers with their babies in their arms,
Husbands with their wives at their sides,
Singing open-mouth the songs of celebration!
The man stands
Presses slowly through the masses
He cannot hear their music, he hears much older music
From before Susan died, before the music died
He walks out into the street
But O the celebration! Lovers with their arms aRound each other
Loving in the streets of the city! Loving before all the people!
Loving with open mouths!
While a woman on stage sings
It's the end of the world as we know it
And she feels fine