An aging warehouse with a cement floor,
broken glass, and swooning walls.
Proud of its code violations.
No ads or radio spots, you just had to
know this was the place.
Before the Dead Kennedys came on,
some other band played “Sit On My
Face, Stevie Nicks.” In the parking lot,
Some boys too young for facial hair
mocked my pal’s beard, “I’ll
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem