Torch an almost empty five gallon

Wesson Oil can with what is still

inside it (and maybe a little gasoline)

then knock the ashes off of it

so that when you lay into it

its sound is just the highest pitched

can in the band, carrying its soprano beat

across the sand and through bikinis

when you play on the sunset beach

Waimea girls dancing topless

in the tail lights of your dreams.

That drum won’t last a week

but it sure was sweet.