i never get carded anymore
too much gray at my temples
and in my beard
moving as I am towards the grave
as we all are
whatever machines we drive
or which ride us
grind us down so gradually
we don’t notice
we are no longer grooving
to the hip music
we were never groovy really
with our cassette mixtapes
and eight-tracks
so uncool
now we are
in the groove the rut
we said we’d never fill
yet so much happier
lounging on the couch
our sagging butts
on leather cushions
binge-watching Netflix
and sipping pinot noir
asking your spouse
to turn up the volume
because our hearing is going
or playing cards
hearts preferably
with friends
than going out to some
bar or club or lounge
sitting on stools or chairs
with tight plastic cushions
some symbol of youth
with our uncushioned butts
grinding hips
with your love
or your lust
the volume of the music
so loud
you must lean in close
colliding beautifully
on the dance floor
thus couching your love
to the beats
of the drum
machine
/ / /
This poem was written in response to the baker’s dozen of words of Wordle 278 at The Sunday Whirl.
Very relatable, especially the Netflix part…
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I don’t go out much anymore, and certainly couldn’t dance even if I wanted to. I’ve become a computer chair potato, don’t even own a couch. I do do the Netflix, when I want to escape. Have decided that this potato can still move its mouth, so keep pushing the words around. And yet, I relate to everything you say here, if only in memory. Thanks for your visit, it’s been way too long and I am so glad you like the kali pics. It’s such a good way to have fun.
Elizabeth
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Good to see your name again! Love this poem, related to this poem, I’m into potatoes.
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Groovy! We’re only as groovy as we imagine…this piece is just that.
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