M.O

He doesn’t even know my name
And talks to me for minutes
His words are passionate, and he barely tries to sound loving
But he does a damn good job
I’m flush because I’m impressed
And I feel embarrassed
For sounding like an idiot

Reaches into these wooden gates
Holding sacred, tones of beauty
Pulls out a stack of silver
Scrounges through them, until he finds
The last disc in the pile

“Listen, spin it a few times. See if you like it.”


It’s different, but familiar
I feel different, but familiar
These notes bring out summer
And fall.
And I fall, and let myself wander for moments

I’m back and gone.
I’m grateful and gracious.
I’m appreciative and loving.
But this is me trying to do a damn good job.