In “You There,” the speaker points at someone whose body has visibly worn out: laugh lines, signs of a failing liver, wrinkles, a knobby belly. These details “say one thing”—that the child has grown old, become a bent, crumpled man, and now falls like a dry leaf on the dance floor. Then the poem turns into a dark, almost impatient joke: get a janitor, shovel away the dry corpse, do it fast, and let the music keep going. The speaker sounds detached and wry, more concerned with keeping the party alive than with mourning. The mood is grimly comic and a little cold, mixing bodily decay with a dance floor that refuses to stop. It leaves the impression that age and death are just messes to be cleaned up quickly while the music lasts.
You There — Summary
Laugh lines and signs of failing liver Wrinkles and knobby belly They say one thing
‘The child has turned old The child has turned into a crocked man And he crumples up like a dry leaf On the dance floor
Ask the janitor for a shovel Scoop up that dry corpse from the dance floor Do it quickly Do it fast Let the music last And last