Mix-Tape
I slid them under your door
because I was afraid
of my own words back then.
I once had a friend
gift me jazz music
and my duct taped
recorder grew hungry
and ate it.
Our friendship
ended but now
I’ve digitally acquired
all those big band
hits. I sent an
email to her once
and she said,
“Not being your friend
is the best decision
I’ve ever made.”
I couldn’t repair
past misunderstandings
so I let her go.
Like the soundtrack
to Les Miserables
that got backed over
by granddad’s truck.
“It was an accident,”
my cousins said,
but I knew better.
I used unraveled
tapes as ribbons
for the gift box
I put my heart in
before I mailed
it off to my ex.
It was really
just stuff
I didn’t want to see
anymore.
But I kept all the tapes.
I listen to them
on an old dusty boombox
in the garage
on rainy days.
I painted old cracked
and jagged cases
and glued them to
styrofoam trays
and called them
sculptures.
I have to explain
what cassettes are
to my nephew
and his friends.
I fast forward
and rewind
to make that
perfect ending.
I worry
as each song plays
that I will
run out of room.
I remember
looking upon my first
compact disc in disdain.
I never liked change.
I’m digging around
the plastic bin
and reminiscing.
I’m thinking
I should donate
them for the
seventeenth time.
But how do you
give up
your memories?
How do you
stop the passing
of time?
* Note: So, here’s an interesting story. I penned a few lines about making a mix-tape but figured it would go nowhere. I couldn’t find anything else to write about so I checked the NaPo prompt site and today’s prompt was to write about “forgotten technology”. The rest is poetry, I guess…
Thistle Thoughts 