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2002-12-23
Joe Strummer (b. John Graham Mellor)
8.21.52 Ankhara, Turkey / D. 12.22.02 Broomfield, England
Heart Attack
Ring ring seven AM.
Joe Strummer dead at FIFTY!
Summer 1982 Cape Cod Coliseum day two
all day in the parking lot
all the beer that will fit in a car, in me
in the four of us
scoring chartreuse, meaningless �POT�
from an embarrassed boy.
You grow up and you calm down.
The embarrassed, lichen-smoking boys collect.
Endless over the scrub pines
a sky finally decently bluing.
Cities a rumor, a taunting fiction
London
sheets of liquid newsprint
decanted onto a bus.
Calling
Better go inside it�s open seating hey there�s plenty of room let�s get close to the stage! "I�m a rock reporter for the Boston Phoenix, we all are, all four of us, tell us why you�re here, what does this music mean to you?" but the boy just looks embarrassed by my lie and won�t speak. Here comes the band! Chord four, my predicament detailed: ass, in Chris�s chest; feet (look at my old high tops!) planted in a strange boy�s back. Having miscalculated during the surge and fight for standing room, I�ve lost the floor completely. My sister is screaming. I am being folded like a fish. Chorus, extrication; to the bleachers we retreat.
Let fury have the hour.
Boys below me
below the four of us, a thousand-some brown heads
a mink�s back heaving.
Boys' teeth buried in the stage
where two quarelling leads and a junkie drummer
will attempt an escape
from their careers:
Oh no it�s The Combat Rock Tour!
Rock the Casbah Rock the Casbah Rock the Casbah
okay I get it.
Paul Malik, snoring straight through Straight to Hell.
Straight to hell boys, straight to heh-eh-ell!
My revelation from that time
returns to comfort me.
�The Clash taught us our rights:
even our right to sleep through their bad songs.�
Bad news today
Vacuum cleaner sucks up budgie
bye bye
Joe Strummer.
Mag
nificent.
For Peter Litchfield, Musician