Remember this? There I was. You were too.
The music we blasted as best we dared.
Just only kids like ten or so, we two.
The Power of Love. Sing along and tear

Around. I can see the bedroom unkempt.
I take up plastic egg-butted punch cone
with sketched opponent, fists up raised to tempt
us little boys our battle skills to hone.

Enthused, I banged the giant drumstick down
upon a narrow racecar bed. Who frowned?

Your older cousin, that’s who! She voiced this:
She said aloud: It’s just Huey Lewis.

What did she mean?

[Bartleby’s Poetry Corner]