Heavy Metal Drummer Part II
It’s more they fall for me than I for them;
they’re not my type,
or even my favorite archetype.
Drummers are the woodsmen,
marching us,the reluctant,
to a chorus of dwarves, in Snow White’s case,
or new, loving parents in Corinth for Oedipus,
saving us from instigating mirrors and caves.
The orphan Dorothy’s tin woodsman
had too much heart but not enough for her.
That chopping robot wept rusty tears
only for himself.
Me, I’m a sucker for the forsaken,
a Snow White who needs an Oedipus to slay with,
not a predictable woodsman
or a shepherd who can’t even kill when told.
Don’t get me wrong,
we are indebted to the woodsmen,
they have their role,but I’ll takethe damned lead singer every time.
This poem first appeared in the sixtieth anniversary issue of The Fiddlehead, Canada's oldest poetry journal.