Legacy

This is my father's day post...

Legacy

There’s a record playing.
My dad’s from 1972…
He was only 16 when he bought it,
If you asked him, he mowed a hundred lawns,
And took a loan out from his dad to buy it.
Now it’s mine,
Spinning.
Singing,
Same voice,
Same words, from almost 40 years ago,
The sound crackles in the same place,
And I like to think,
That despite out differences over the year,
When I turn this on,
I feel the same as he did,
That day,
So long ago,
When he walked into a record store,
Braving the hippies and disco dancers
He bemoans, to buy a plastic disc,
That he could never imagine,
His son spinning in his own living room
With his own wife,
And his own beat up speakers,
Feeling a little too old himself
A million years later,
And thousands of miles away.
Right at home.

Petina

I just had the best day I've had in years for my birthday. It involved my toilet breaking, a man's hand dyed blue, and seventeen people eating sausages in our parking spot...I have not written many words for a while, but sometimes I think that's ok.

Petina

My fingers have grown rusty.
True, there have been words hammered out,
But not in a celebratory way,
Not excited,
Just pouring bullshit on a page.
My creativity has oxidized.

But with patience,
It’s a patina one can grow to love.
Because time,
And friends,
And drinks,
And sunsets,
And pets,
And lovers,
And adventures,
And taboos,
And work,
And school,
And bicycles,
And coffee,
And laundry,
And groceries,
And recipes,
All take up time,

That may or may not have been better spent,
Exploring the caverns of my keyboard,
Exchanging pleasantries with my pen.
I could’ve avoided the wear and tear,
And present my first library,
But souvenirs have no soul,
I always prefer an antique.