One of the twelve tapes
we had was Linda Ronstadt. She’d been mistreated.
One pine mini-crate, held a dozen
cassettes, sat on the bench seat in the front,
and were played on road trips.
I hear Sergeant Pepper and see the blurry cover. Blue, colorful,
A Lovin’ Spoonful of what? I was only 10.
Yellow, red candy hearts, an image
of summer sidewalks in a summer city.
And lipstick everybody, Janis.
Don’t murder me, I never knew
what some of these songs meant,
but they were all gentle, and smooth,
like the fourteen foot Chrysler Newport in robin’s egg blue
that carried us slowly through Suburbia to Grandpap’s.
I will love you when you’re 64, why wouldn’t I? And I’ll
think of the sea sponge, soapy, swishing
across crystal diamond platinum blue
Lincoln Continental (no rust!).
So love me do, as I mind-wander
to these tunes
and ramble to you.