I sing to myself, more hum in my head,
The radio soundtrack of youth
Stuck in my brain, lyrics poorly recalled
More often as time drains by, a river
Running dry, the bedrock exposed,
Crumbling to tunes in deepest erosion.
No more smooth curves and soft edges now.
Just crooked lines cutting hard cracks,
All jagged to memory’s touch, crying blood.
Lyrical nonsense crowding out what’s true,
Dangling, superficial mumblings
Sighing incoherence, dying in time.
With these musical ramblings, every once
In a surprising while, I’ll hit
One, break a smile because I know it’s right.
For a moment a memory’s unfrozen, thawed
From the ice weight of a blocked lake,
Mendota in dead winter, breaking up.
Bittersweet can’t describe the strong embrace
When grease was the word, the power
Of a Saturday night wrapped up in you.
Or you, wonder’s wanderer, reminiscing
Somewhere we’ve not grown old as one,
Those dropped opportunities, damn, some girls.
So, I limp through faltering melodies,
Those once sung with a confidence
I can’t get up like I did yesterday.
Lanning Lee 