Because we all want to write more poems.
Neighborhood Walk
today, after the rain stopped
I put on Jan’s daughter’s
iPod and
took a long walk
I never changed the songs
when Jan gave it to me
I’m fond of it as is:
dated, clunky, and
filled with Jan’s daughter’s music
I recognize
Elvis Costello,
Liz Phair, Ben Folds,
the rest are mysteries
indie bands from the oughts
arrangements spare
voices flat
lyrics plaintive
as a teenaged crush
the streets are a grey wash
a kid on his bike hurries home
everyone else is inside
but you can sense them
in the smell of
simmered onions and
hamburger
a drift of wood smoke
citrus blossoms
I take it in with the
eyes and nose of
a fifty year old man and the
ears of a fifteen year old girl -
my mind, like
an abacus bead, slid
just a few degrees from
its accustomed position
I once said that
wearing someone else’s
iPod is the nearest thing
we have to telepathy
but tonight I remember
a college professor who
said that the goal of
anthropology is to
make the strange
familiar and the familiar
strange
this is like that
only sweeter
- Michael Mayhew's Shared Poems
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Comments
Michael Mayhew
February 13, 2013
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this one stewed for a long time
I started it last spring, back when I was swapping emails with Jennifer about maybe contributing here, and then it sat for a longish while until a conversation today with Ben reminded me, and so I finished.
Clayton Medeiros
February 14, 2013
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Presence
Great foil for how we know one another. I could see it and hear it without knowing anything about the underlying reality. I like the complete thought in each stanza.
joshua mertz
February 25, 2013
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vernal, autumnal, transitional
This is a very nice poem, Mike. Imagery and commentary plus a whiff of mystery. The closest thing to telepathy is another person's ipod. WLISF (we live in science fiction) Perhaps the seed of a short story there. Good warm, organic interface between music and the post-precipitant air it vibrates.