A poem for musicians
I am over qualified
Under achieved
Classically trained
Since the age of thirteen
I’ve practiced for hours
Years, decades
“‘Scuse me pal
Do ya know any Oasis, mate?”
I’ve conducted orchestras
Composed for film
Performed for thousands
I’ve honed my skill
I’ve travelled the country
Always underpaid
“Alright fella
Do you know any Oasis, mate?”
OK I’ll do it
Since you politely asked
Give me one moment
While I detune my guitar
“So what do you do?”
I asked as we wait
He said, “All my life
I’ve been a brick layer mate”
I couldn’t help it
I yelled in his face
“Well here’s some Lego
Can you build me a fucking stage?”
It happens everywhere
It’s a recurring pattern
Like a nagging child
Or a Pachebels canon
Or a Dylan track
With the repeated refrain
“For the times they are playing
Oasis, mate”