Feel the Beat

Paul Rivers flowed
to the sound of drums. 
He liked the beat
Because
it gave him
a sense of heart. 
He longed to linger
where the music got writ,
but the time for dreams
seemed
too often tomorrow. 
He spent his hours
to get paid
and slept
less than a minute
can witness. 
However,
from time to time,
chances
Of a kind
arrived. 
Bar back for a tavern
that featured live tunes. 
Minding bottles and ice
with the background grooved
by percussion, strings,
horns, and singing. 
One night
Paul tapped his foot
and spent his luck. 
A bass player,
spying the tap,
 asked him after hours,
“You ever slap the skins?” 
Paul shook his head
and found himself
offered
a seat at the kit. 
The drummer gave his okay,
and the band paused to watch. 
Sticks in hand,
shirt sweat through,
Paul started awkward. 
Smirks on faces --
those who stay
when last call's been proclaimed,
thinking they know
the world better than most. 
It seemed another dead dream
was soon to slug
whiskey
with the rest of
the liquor crew. 
But feeling his heart,
Pa-ul
re-
star-
ted
slow-er. 
One tap at a time,
building rhythm and rhyme. 
He closed his eyes and flew 
To awake from life
into a dream.