Druid and the DJ
By Elijah O’Donnell
My father was a DJ,
He had dreadlocks and danced,
Drummed in drum circles,
With other dead heads.
My mother was a Druid,
She had crystals and love,
She lay in grass fields,
Crowns of flowers made of.
They had they had each other,
Then,
They had me.
Now my fathers a supervisor,
At a big corporate plant.
With hair cut too short,
Music seldom to enchant.
Now my mothers a salesman,
Of snake oils and shakes,
No more time for strolls in the forest,
Or walks by the lakes.
Still there are relics of time gone,
Never to come back.
Turntables never spun,
Crystals stuck up on the rack.
He no longer has his parties,
She no longer has her tree,
They no longer have each other,
They no longer have me.
Like sticks of incense,
Now ashes in the ashtray,
Whoever thought of a story so silly,
As the druid and the DJ.
