Thursday, January 6, 2011

Conduit -- Poetry 2011



Resetting the radio tabs in her car to avoid
oldie but moldy music stations… the
disgorge of 60’s flashback fanned funks.
Visualizing the decorated gym for a dance,
as if crepe` paper streamers and turning off
overhead lights magically changed a cavernous
cinder block room into a palace ballroom.

Typical high school dance meant boys and girls
standing in clumps, trying to look cool, listening
to scratchy 45s; girls prayed for a chance to dance.
Voices hoarse from yelling over blaring music, she
never asked her girlfriends if they woke to soggy pillows.
No use going back in time to her deficient social skills.

Keeping radio set to current stations, watching
a smattering of TV sitcoms, she remained tuned
in to what was cool, hip, boss, fly, trendy… not foolish
enough to emulate clothing, hair styles or interior design;
she kept her tattoos respectfully out of site…
she kept to herself, to her life wrapped in tissue paper.

Landscape out her window morphed; seasons turned,
neighbors came and went, retired, passed away…
human figure deteriorates;
human mind degenerates.
Won’t be sad to greet the end of the life she has;
will be sad to see the end of the life she wanted;
her transparent imaginings were a conduit to love.

1/6/2011

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