1.
I have this old tube
radio;
it's a record player.
I love it, as dusty as it gets.
It works beautifully;
warming up after a lovely click.
I'm sad though,
when it begins to play
because the sound is that
of today.
All the warmth of the
golden glow
is wasted.
The radio and I
are misplaced
in time.
2.
China clinking;
chipping.
muffled orders passed to
men with sweaty brows
and stained aprons.
Squeaky vinyl,
torn and scuffed;
duct tape patches.
The tables are uneven
wobbling.
Rattling of a fork
fallen, a knife
meeting porcelain.
Praying the man
ducking under
the counter leaf
has washed
his hands.
I hope my coffee
isn't filled
too high.
3.
Ugly.
Despicable.
Reprehensible.
You get the idea,
but it's what I think;
and you're still here.
It was the reading glasses.
You don't know
Johnny Cash.
He was bad
trying to be good.
You thought I was a square
it turns out I have curves
that can make you vomit.
4.
I always giggle at myself
when sitting
in dirty underwear,
fighting a cold.
I can see the postcard
moment;
hair akimbo
unshaven
nose running.
Like that crazed portrait
of Poe;
but half naked.
I have this old tube
radio;
it's a record player.
I love it, as dusty as it gets.
It works beautifully;
warming up after a lovely click.
I'm sad though,
when it begins to play
because the sound is that
of today.
All the warmth of the
golden glow
is wasted.
The radio and I
are misplaced
in time.
2.
China clinking;
chipping.
muffled orders passed to
men with sweaty brows
and stained aprons.
Squeaky vinyl,
torn and scuffed;
duct tape patches.
The tables are uneven
wobbling.
Rattling of a fork
fallen, a knife
meeting porcelain.
Praying the man
ducking under
the counter leaf
has washed
his hands.
I hope my coffee
isn't filled
too high.
3.
Ugly.
Despicable.
Reprehensible.
You get the idea,
but it's what I think;
and you're still here.
It was the reading glasses.
You don't know
Johnny Cash.
He was bad
trying to be good.
You thought I was a square
it turns out I have curves
that can make you vomit.
4.
I always giggle at myself
when sitting
in dirty underwear,
fighting a cold.
I can see the postcard
moment;
hair akimbo
unshaven
nose running.
Like that crazed portrait
of Poe;
but half naked.
1 comment:
1) I too feel misplaced most of the time. As though I am an old soul trying to make its way through the labyrinth of today and its technology. Like I am some recycled soul waiting for someone to come by and notice that I am a square peg shaving off my corners in a desperate plea of acceptance...
2)I like this one...I can almost smell the heartattack waiting to happen...the butter, the grease.
3)Wow this is powerful. Harsh and blatant, is this an example of your bite?
4)You have me laughing at this one. Such a visual!
Tigra
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