Tubular Bells

Back then, you had
to lower down the needle
slowly, wait until the point,
with a crack, engaged the groove
and set out on its spiral journey
to the centre.

I remember how (it seems
so real) we sat around,
drinking cheap beer,
all couples, and how we felt so old.
We were in love, perhaps,
but underneath it all
lay desperation, fear.
The piano starts to play.
I watch her look into his eyes
and (cliché or not)
this is the memory from that time
I feel most intensely
as he slips a ring onto her finger
(so conventional, yet so sincere).
Sometimes even now
I wonder what became of them,
although I’m not sure I ever
even knew their names.

Years later, driving North along
the B6265,
the hills are invisible
in the darkness.
Bebop plays on the cassette
and in the back
two small children
strapped in kiddie-seats
are sleeping. There is
so much for me to do,
so little time to think;
certainly no time
to press the rewind button
and reflect.

Today, same place
but driving South,
there’s none of that.
The audio system’s set
to shuffle-play.
The choice of track’s
determined by an algorithm:
it’s just a case
of wait and see.
And so it happens that
the piano starts to play
just as in 1973.
It takes me back
then back and forth in time.
The children in the kiddie-seats
are old enough to drive themselves
and I find myself wondering
yet again
what lay in store
for the girl and boy I never knew
as we tried so hard to act the parts
we thought life had in store for us
back then.

 

Copyright (c) Sackerson, 2019

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