Last summer we had some problems
with our bathroom doors
suddenly refusing to open
after a series of twelve-year old girls
barricaded themselves in there
and wouldn’t come out
unless we coughed up some
Jonas Brothers tickets.

Carol had to tell me who
the Jonas Brothers were.
“So they’re sort of like Hanson?
OK. Got it.”

Someone had told them that
we knew someone
who knew a guy
who had gone to law school
with their manager.

I wanted to call the police,
but Carol said,
“I think some of them
are cops’ daughters.”

So I bought ear plugs for both of us,
and whenever we found
one or two of them in there,
they didn’t get the friggin’ Jonas Brothers.
Oh, no. They got
The Allman Brothers baby!
“At the Fillmore East”
blasted under the door
as loud as I could get it
and by morning they’d all be gone
and we’d have our bathroom back.

I think the lesson learned is that
nothing gets rid of today’s tweeners
like long-haired Southern white guys
rockin’ the blues.

And maybe that we should
be a little better about
making sure the front door’s
locked before we turn in for bed.