Funky

Such stringed relief thwacks
your fretful fingerboard.
A shame, my friend
the straining rhythm descends
into a rising vocal triumph:
You shot the sheriff, but sadly
did not deputise tonality.

Relieved to abandon prejudice -
Escalate to my waiting train;
Leaving that tonal tantrum,
shot-sheriff of my perception
of the black-rhythm-talent-tube
inherent in underlondon thing.

And my tumult lands me forgetfully
into a pre-reserved seat.
Not mine, dear London.
Goodbye, dear London.
I lose myself in my definite walkman.