for my friend Gregg (in plaid) a draft by Merimee from notes by Gregg
Read it with a Dylan/Cash-kind of rhythm (gui’ tar) stress on first syllable
ps Gregg, I know nothing of song writing. This is a poem;
then again, Dylan is a poet.10/21/16)
Me & Bob Dylan 1969
I was sitting in yr driveway, Mr. Dylan, way back then
You surprised me with yr talk about who was I, a friend?
You said the neighbors didn’t like any transients on your porch
but I could come in for a sandwich, if I didn’t mind white bread
I said I did; you sat me down and passed me a guitar
the one from Johnny Cash with your eyes lit up like stars
Just back from Nashville, recording with the man in black
You were holding your white sandwich and you let me pick a tune
A sandwich worth of music on that Woodstock afternoon
I’d walked all over Woodstock asking people where you lived
I’d walked all over Woodstock but I wouldn’t eat white bread
said I wasn’t hungry, a kind of picky, skinny kid
We hippies liked whole food, and fixed a certain way
Mr. Dylan, you were generous to let me come inside
And I’d rather play your guitar than eat a sandwich, any kind
I wanted so to meet you and you said I could come in
Come in for a sandwich; put a guitar in my hand
You said, Come in for a sandwich and put a guitar in my hand.