Friday Night, March 22, 2024*

Stan perches on the piano stool with his guitar

because he’s too dirty to sit anywhere else

Resin dust blankets his hair and sweatshirt

He’s been refinishing a rowing shell but is now

putting off a shower

The lamp flickers 

I should change the bulb but don’t feel like it

Vivian faces me at the other end of the couch

Who’s that artist from Paris? she asks

Picasso? I say

Yeah, I’m drawing like him

She flashes me a sad-looking bunny on one page

and a girl with blocky fingers and eye bags on the next

What should I sketch now? she says

Me, I reply

Stan starts into Alan Doyle’s “Where the Nightingale Sings”

It’s pitched too high and his brows furrow

Next is a tune about hips and lips that Belén and Susanna

used to perform

When I remember their harmonies and soft

ten and twelve-year-old bodies my swallow spot swells

Then Stan sings another by a minstrel

we saw at a now-defunct coffee shop

Our family was the only audience, besides the local news reporter

When it was over the musician strapped his guitar to his bike and pedalled

into the rainy night even though we’d offered him a place to stay

As our headlights illuminated his silhouette on the slick highway

we discussed his disinterest in our offer

But his song about guitars and timbers

has been a part of our family repertoire for years

Vivian studies me for a moment then looks down at her progress

Her tongue slips out and she pauses, tilts her head, then touches her lips

I’m going where the water tastes like wine, croons Stan

Vivian shows me my portrait

I am knock-kneed and hair hangs in front of my face

A moment later his strumming signals our favourite ranchera

and he yips Mujeres! ¿Dónde están mis mujeres?

Here we are 

Here we are

I agree with Alan Doyle

Same old sweet song

Tonight and tomorrow

And on and on

Stay with me, stay with me

Love serenade

As long as we stand

And the band wants to play

* Thank you Alan Doyle, Rosie and the Riveters, Scott Cook, Dan Frechette, and Christina Aguilera