Seventy-eight grooves of inscribed pain
and random-access joy
record the peaks and troughs
of fifty years as his wife,
orbiting: he’s been the central pin
of everything.
We were well warned of the blackout
but not about the slurred power:
the renal failure
took many long days to declare.
Without the constant spin
lifting of her schizophrenic haze,
there’s less scratchiness
in the old songs.
Gone her master’s voice,
but days are not so bad,
doors and windows wide,
sun comfortably warm,
the world a surprisingly
friendly place.
No comments:
Post a Comment