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I love AC/DC. I love 
how Brian tugs the brim 
of that tweed cap, centering 
and staggering as he belts 
that on-key howl. I love 

How Mal and Chris 
(and I present-tense this; 
the immortals don't take 
past tense) stand to the back, 
Mal stiff-jolt twitch, Chris 
more laid-back, but they 
stride in lockstep unison 
to their mics, called 
by the chorus to holler 
hard harmony. 

I love Angus Young. 

But there is no reason not 
to love Angus Young. How 
the squonking squall of minor 
pentatonic blistering cut-glass 
glissando he unleashes from 
within, jerking and flung 
like a puppet on six strings, 

Well, I find it refreshing. 
An infusion of juice to the ears 
that flows straight to veins
and bolts nerves to their joins 
by concussive volts in chords 
and notes. 

Who cannot appreciate these pure
and bone-simple dumbass songs
has probably overthought them,
and underthought some primal 
things. Or else they think the guy 
sounds like he lost a bet with his
larynx and has to sing with his nuts 
in a vise to make up the difference, 
and they can't understand a thing! 

Which is understandable. People 
who don't love AC/DC, that's often 
the reason. They can't understand 
a thing