Fat Andy came by with a different sort of request.
He had a new record
and he wanted a review.
I hadn’t done that kind of thing in a while
but I figured it would be no problem.
I could dash something off
to one of the places I used to contribute to back in the days.

I listened to the album.
Sounded good.
Maybe better than the old stuff
when Fat Andy was gigging regularly.
I could put some words together about this,
like how the struggling artist is keeping his head above water
and this time he might really make it.

I took a glance at the last piece I wrote about Fat Andy,
like ten years ago:
struggling artist is keeping his head above water.
This time he might really make it.

I started thinking about the publications
I contributed to.
Turns out, I was the publisher of most of them.
There was one left,
but that was the one where I wrote the article
I just glanced at.

I haven’t written music criticism in five years.
I hadn’t written much of anything in two.
I couldn’t think of another direction to take.
I procrastinated.
I was falling down on the job.

Fat Andy asked what was up.
Repeatedly.

“I’m just working on an angle,” I said,
but I was just looking for an angle to get out of it.
A few months later, I did.

“I’m sorry, Fat,” I said,
“I’m just not up for it. I can’t find my way in.”
He said it was all right, but I don’t think Fat Andy
will ever really forgive me for failing to do his bidding.