I'm always surprised to see Fletcher alive.

Especially at an upscale fund-raiser like
"Taste of the Nation". A pseudo-formal affair to benefit the homeless.

Fletcher used to live in the donation dumpster next to the Salvation Army building, but now he's hangin' out in a leaky barge moored in the Annapolis Harbor.
He must have heard the beat
skipping across the harbor like a stone,
because big as life he was jerkin' and spazin'
to the music, just like the old days.

Some alcoholics are demure, others melancholy,
still others comatose.
Fletcher gets pumped and repugnant.

He yelps and belches, twirls and tumbles,
cheering the band with Heavy Metal exuberance.

A decade ago Fletcher led a band of his own.
The sound was as unique as the instrumentation:

one power sander
a sledge hammer
a nail gun
two power drills
assorted sheets of metal
The highlight of the show was a "Tool-Time" version of
Inagodadavida
A ghetto blaster belted out the song while
the power-tool quartet sent rythmic sparks and shrapnel
hurling into the audience.
Fletcher would howl above the din like a crazed coyote.


I'm always surprised to see Fletcher alive...