Played a short
Set,
Nothing
Ordinary.

The synth
Popped
3 tones,
Again,
And,
Again.

The drum,
Trussed in
Glitter,
Beat
The same,
Slightly
Behind.

The girls lost
Their minds.
They went
Crazy.

Then
The boys
Did too.

After the
Set,
He went
Home.

She was there
Already.

In the room,
The bed
Was made
With Roses.
The lights were
Dim.

Good job.

Six months later,
The band
Broke up.

There were
No more
Shows.

She packed
Her things
And left
Him,
In the
Apartment,
Smoking
His last
Cigarette.

There was
A new band,
Now popular,
Playing down
The street.

Image by Dadion Gomez from Pixabay