Midnight at Central

Midnight at Central
Just barely gone, it's the witching hour.
I watch from the wings as the band
packs away the stage,
neatly in a manner that suggests
this is a well practised routine.

I hide a yawn as the day catches up on me,
my body still shivers as the echoes of the
music trickle from the room and I walk home,
shoulders hunched against the cold,
clutching their latest album so that
I can replay the gig from the comfort
of my living room.

During the night the band unleashes
a cacophony of instruments,
each fitting seamlessly into the songs
and I fight the urge to try ( and fail)
to capture their essence on camera.

They craft melodies from a bluesy rock,
some slower numbers have undertones of folk
and I struggle internally with my own ineptitude
to accurately describe a musical genre.

My toes still feel like tapping as
I make my way home and though tired
I feel that achey happiness from a really good gig.

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