Table of |
Soundtrack to my Life
My soundtrack goes back, ahead, up, down.
“I Saw the Light” as a four-year-old and
got hooked on the British invasion,
pre-Beatles mania. “Maybe I’m Amazed”
by the sheer magic music shed on a timid child
imprisoned in a confused household.
“Ah Mary,” my mother—how I adored her
‘til she wouldn’t let me. I finally learned
to smile once I escaped. “What’s Going On” is that
I make homes wherever I lay my bag.
“I Got a Line on You,” New York, no longer him.
It’s place that brings me to climax.
The geography of time
takes me back to music maps.
Before images, comments and “likes,”
I used my psyche to communicate,
especially in summer, with a beige
transistor radio tethered to my hip.
Like a secret prize in a Crackerjack box,
new songs would emerge from the
Beatles, Rolling Stones, Al Green.
I never knew what gold Marvin Gaye
would mine to move my feet and heart,
giving me the power to switch “on.”
The bereft nightlife uplifts.
We walk beside shadows
in search of cicchetti,
something authentic to prolong the hush.
I forgo tourism and calves liver.
Buy a mask and hide in Burano
island of lace, seafood, and vibrant colors.
Like Hemingway, I retreat to Torcello,
write about a river and trees.
Make a date with my muse
to meet at Ponte del Diavolo.
© Angela Mark flowerpower
Power in a Thumb
Back when phones were immobile
and laptops futuristic,
we possessed little money,
but owned freedom.
Boredom afflicted us endlessly;
we embraced it.
Planning was for bores.
When we got too big for our bikes,
in our hip huggers, midriff tops and sneakers,
we sought danger.
All we had to do was
wear a sultry scowl
and flash a thumb.
We trusted strangers to take us
anywhere we wanted to go.