Phyllis Sykes and the Ruckus
Had a hit record back in the 70s
something about a "mystery drill"
which you understand was euphemistic for sex

"my life in the pan
my life as a flash in the pan
that sudden flush of freedom
the sudden pain of containment
the sudden pain of confinement
to a shrinking coat of celebrity
to a shrunken coat of stardom
with its sad and tarnished badges"

Phyllis had an idea:
reunite the Ruckus!
They were all still alive, in their seventies,
but that made a certain symmetric sense

they got onstage and their fans
eager for a car wreck or carnage
got their fuckin asses rocked off

the drummer had a stroke during his drum solo
he got stuck on a beat and they had to pull him off
they rolled out a drum machine and kept on goin

the rhythm guitarist got stabbed in the eye
by a splinter of his smashing Gibson
he went down like a stone; they soldiered on

the bassist electrocuted by a badly grounded mike
as he jumped in to sing backup
choir invisible now, for him!

Only keyboardist Schmidt, and that wily roadie riding the Linn remained.
Phyllis looked around at the stage, the only place she'd felt at home, and
at the audience, the only people she'd ever loved.
She hit a high note, held it, to swelling applause, then, happily, collapsed.