I have to tell you this
’cause you weren’t there
it was just me
and a square plastic radio
sitting on the quilted top cover
of my parents wood-framed bed
inside the brick row-house
built early 1900s by Edison
for families of stout worthy men hired to build his trains

“We built this city on rock ‘n roll”
Amazing!
Hold a little gray radio; bring it onto the center of the bed; stop and listen to this wisdom; what can it mean?
To build something concrete like a city out of something incorporeal like rock n roll–!?
What is this rock n roll?
Surely more than mere music
Some kind of magic
More than mere attitude
Some kind of Knowledge

Where are you Rock n Roll?
It’s more than 30 years gone, and I can’t find you now
It’s more than 30 years gone, and the bed still feels soft and the music still encloses
Have I done something wrong?
What is going on?