Midtown. Mid-eighties. Our crew passes the other kids
before the show.
We discover cute girl
is celebrating birthday
before Billy Joel goes on.

Thus begins impromptu
a capella interactive reading
of Beatles’ “Birthday,”
despite it being nobody else’s
“My birthday, too, yeah!”
Despite hypocrisy,
it goes over well.

Differing war parties disperse
going on independent snack runs
before Billy gets banging.
Excitement runs high.

“Easy Money” has been in a movie
but nobody cared for it.
Every other song on the album
had been a hit.
“He’s got to do ‘Uptown Girl’.”
“Tell me about it.”
“‘Tell Her About It.'”
“Ah, ‘Leave a Tender Moment Alone’.”
Pizza was a block away.
We went to pick up some slices.

Well-fed and less-funded,
we headed back to the Garden for the gig.
We were having the time of our lives
in the dangerous night-time Manhattan
in the Summer of our youths.

We can never get too much of a good thing.
Life can only get better from here.