I saw Norah Jones this weekend.

(Step-touch, step-touch)
by R.J. Biermann

Tonight I saw Norah Jones
dancing like a groupie to her own songs.
Made me realize that my greatest days
were marked by that small, unseen sway,
how many times I've played back-up drums...
I don't know why I didn't come

To my friends' short, off-Broadway plays,
performed on random, rainy October days:
they've played auxillary drums for me.
Together, we made grandiloquent symphonies.

We may not feel the lights
on anyone's opening night,
the acoustics are never what they're advertised.
We're not as tall in real life.

Under stage make-up we are what we'll be,
the people most will never see.
You were worth the encore song.
I don't know why I didn't come?
I don't know why I didn't come.