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June 7, 2016

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Hull of old memories, 

Bee-bops and slow dances,

Soda shop sundaes 

After school – You


Dj’d them all.

With a quarter

And the push of some buttons,

Records dropped


45 RPM and the long arm

Lowered itself onto each

Grove like a gentle 

Lover. Scratched


The melancholy moods

And soft air.


Where is the graveyard of those

Records now?  Melted ashtrays,

Art on diner walls, 

Skeet targets. 


Digital music – so pure

And perfect, convenient.

But never as romantic

As standing arm and arm above

The Wurlitzer choosing your favorite song.


This is Poem #90 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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The computer’s virtual

Realm is a vacuum;

It’s sucked up

 

The Main Street video

Store and conversations

With clerks regarding

 

New films, and comics,

And war. Stacks of

VHS tapes lining walls

 

And piled on the floor

And the way he knew

Just where to locate

Any obscure B-film

Title no matter

 

How close to the ceiling

Its rank. One day

We bought 8-tracks,

 

Cassettes, records. Then

CD’s – but each groove

was recommended by

 

The man behind the counter.

Yesterday, we made

A concerted effort

 

To buy actual music

Pressed into vinyl

For a needle to

Scrape and scratch

Over – no digital

remastering. No

Transfer to MP3

 

Or virtual this or

Virtual that.

 

And bumper stickers

Crying out against

The World Wide Web

Adorned a pole

 

Near the register.

Buy me. Attach

Me to your actual

 

Reality.

 

 

This is Poem #4 from the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

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