Knock Knock Knockin’

Knock, Knock, Knockin’

Entering through a side door on a
mid-week winter morning, sipping cups
of decaf & nostalgia, one after another
they hike to the lectern––recollections
of poignant first-person chronicles
(a tale of an early marriage
or a funny sketch from a grandkid’s visit),
the chilly library annex thaws
in sympathetic cordiality.

Wrapping up the hour,
a left-behind folkie lovingly resurrects
a 60’s song from the vault––Dylan,
of course––mumbles a brief intro and
starts strumming without naming the tune,
but they know it, heads nod to
each other, in time, memories kick in,
lips synch & toes tap softly.

But when he gets to the chorus and
motions for the group to join him,
the metronome stutters, a chill re-enters,
no one chimes in, lips lock down,
heads go still & toes come to rest
as if the wind blew open the door,
one guy stands up, turns, & shouts
will someone shut that damn thing!

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