Vintage Words


Dial switcher. None of that remote crap.

You gotta put a delicate index and thumb

on the button and, like a safe cracker,

gently manipulate until it clicks. Haze

greets the ear, voices unwanted,

commercials and djs, until the favorite

song, just out or old takes form from 

transister fog.


No computer generated digitized sound

floats up direct from the pure studio.

Vinyl to mic to the earwax of the mind 

starts the ritual, What was that word?

Who made that song? Change the station

was the rule of the entertained hour

until our heads bobbed and our toes

moved. It was easily done and we

listened as if our lives would

otherwise end.







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