Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Dangling Numeral: One way to prevent a broken door

If they didn’t tell me, if I didn’t know
You’d think I saw a stranger, I’d swear I saw a ghost,
Voices, flat and wide,
Echoic, coming from every side,
Long play vinyl to tracks of eight
Cassettes to Compact Discs to MP3’s,
I like the way it makes me feel,
Loud anthems roaring high,
Softly sung lullabies, the type mamma used to sing at night,
Words that rhyme and words that distill
Meanings taken from each inflection, from every skipping beat,

When the door caved in, a dangling numeral was no more,
Men and splinters flew in all directions,
By the looks of it I was in need of serious protection,
The pride in the air quickly filled the room,
As smiles stretched and hands slapped back and forth
I found it all surreal, filled both in humor and by fear,
But in this moment I couldn’t laugh, and God knows I tried to cry,
It was then the vanilla scented lady came to me, sat down at my side,
Gently she caressed my cheek, so tender, so motherly,
 “So glad that you’re okay,” were the first things she said to me,
The only thing that came to mind was a question. “Why?”    
Soon an explanation would arise.

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