I wonder if our bosses have any idea how much time we spend
thinking about them. My friend Silvia can’t sleep because
she can’t remember the name of her boss from twenty years ago.
I remember sitting on the floor watching my parents dance to Chubby Checker’s “The Twist,” their bodies bending and gyrating as Checker called out: “Round and round and up and down we go” like a shaman, beckoning them to partake in this ritual of body and soul…
The bass
line thumps and grinds, the honky tonk piano moves like an ivory
river, full of swampy delta blues.
I am standing in line waiting for the bus to take me
across the street to Graceland when Tolstoy shows up
with his white beard and peasant’s garb