Our birthplace and our home is splendid rock -
the central metaphor of this, our age.
Our tempo and our timekeeper. Our clock.
Our Plato and our Job, our modern Bach,
whose gods have names like Hendrix, Moon, and Page.
Yes, this our birthplace known as Splendid Rock
has monuments to view on every block -
like this one here, which showcases the rage
that slowly gathered ‘round Bill Haley’s clock.
And Otis felt it, sitting on that dock.
He sang it out like righteous macrophage
against the cancers threatening our rock.
We filled our elders with regret and shock.
How deep our anger flowed they could not gauge.
Their Bibles bore no clue, nor did their clock.
What more was there to do but jeer and mock
and vote to place our Jaggers in a cage?
But now our birthplace, home, and Splendid Rock
can be enjoyed by all. Just give a knock.
Come trim the weeds. We’ll pay a living wage!
Behold our birthplace, home, and Splendid Rock,
and, in this square, our battered, precious clock.