Poetry Per Post Performance

Mannequin Pussy, Revolution Live, Fort Lauderdale, FL - 10/24/24

by Ryan Buynak

Photo by Sarah Manza

Lauren bailed on some bullshit excuse,

so I met Sarah the photographer there,

but she got sidetracked outside for a spell

by an eavesdropping snobby Nolan.

Harumi saved the day (night),

smiling and smoking,

with her friends whose names I can’t remember—

I ended up talking about the podcast with the dude.

Mannequin Pussy is a band whose shirt

I can’t wear to a PTO meeting,

but whose praises I will sing until the day I die,

which could be sooner than later.

Electric chords rip through, bold, unfurling,

Missy's voice both raw and tender, yearning,

rage and vulnerability, fierce and mirrored,

a blast of sound that dares to fear.

This is the type of band

I hope my daughter likes one day,

the kind of band that makes you forget

all the people behind you.

I went down into the pit

for a quick slam dance,

but my almost-42-year-old body

got beat up by lesbians in their 20s.

Back to sipping club sodas side stage,

where the photographers steal the railing,

the band’s riffs and rhythms scream and swell,

chaos and calm both intertwined in my mind.

For every bruised and beaten heart,

their punk rock a voice, a place, a start—

Mannequin Pussy, pure and true,

shouting the rage of me and you.

Sarah the photographer disappeared,

Harumi nabbed a setlist,

and I fell asleep relieved,

still with my yellow wristband on.