#259: Thirteen Views of Listening to A Song


With my eyes closed,
the lyrics become more vivid–
like icicles in my fingers.

Bouncing up and down
on a pogo stick, the drummer
has all of my limbs and I have hers.

I watch that wave come up,
a shimmering, a crescendo:
some nonsense makes me cry a little.

A man and a woman
hear this song.
A man and a woman and a song
make a crazy sound, like cymbals.

The steering wheel becomes
my instrument; people look at me
and smile as they pass.

Sometimes, a loop occurs
in the memory; the mind hears
that song even while it’s asleep.

I don’t know if I prefer
this song at 33 rpm or 45.
This becomes a weighty matter.

Listening to colored vinyl
makes this song better,
there’s a tone unique to transparent green
or matte orange.

I can’t remember the last time
I hated a song.

I’ve heard this song
ten times in a single week
in various stages of inebriation,
but I chose that.

Sometimes a song comes on
in a public place, and you know it
but don’t know it.
That hurts a little.

Is there something to
the fact that the artists I love
keep getting younger and younger?

I keep listening. Everything
could be caving in, or simply flying,
or marvelously indifferent,
but I keep listening.

Published by michaeljarmer

I'm a public high school English teacher, fiction writer, poet, and musician in Portland, Oregon

2 thoughts on “#259: Thirteen Views of Listening to A Song

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