Must I Paint You a Picture Is What Billy Bragg Would Sing

Twenty-five years, a quarter century we breathed

this thick air, we walked this property line,

measuring our lives against wisteria vines

that burst each spring like bundles of grapes

and overwhelm us with lavender musk.

Twenty-five years, a quarter century ago

I took you in the front seat and sneered

at your jealous violin in the back seat.

You still play the violin, make it sing
sweeter than you ever did,
petting cat-gut strings with a horse-hair bow
you hold with thin strong fingers
I desired twenty-five years ago.

You still play the same old, tiny mandolin
you played the day we met. You pluck chords
and make me dance like twenty-five years ago.

I dance mazurkas beneath wisteria.
I go gonzo for your soiled mandolin.
I go bat-shit for your cat-gut violin.

Oh, spring, spring, spring, 

I dance, I dance on a breaking levee!