Come Around

Our records don’t spin
Like they used to

All those years ago
Spent
In my basement,

Beneath billiard lamps
Unassuming
Where songs would
Speak
For our thoughts –

Never told
But uttered through
Music

When you’d come around
Still
Before leaving

Without letting me know
There were reasons
Behind every track
We had played.

I’m tired of
Silently waiting
For moments
Lost
Missing friendship

Under jagged holes
On this ceiling

Where bugs
Now squirm
Caught by webs –

Creeping slyly
Amid old memories,

Painfully strewn
Along carpets,

Showing stains
From feelings
Forgotten

Sipping colas
Spilled
While we laughed.

Though among such pests
I remain,

Watching spiders
Crawl
Across speakers,

Building homes
Best shared
Between loners

Finding dampness
Oddly preferred –

Existing once
Above ground,

Soon finding gloom
Almost pretty,

Never wasting light
Nearly absent
During daydreams
Caught
Below stairs.

How vinyl lasts
Over decades
Enduring shelves
Growing dusty,

But closeness
Will sadly
Expire

As time
Itself
Always proves.

  • J. Pigno

2 Comments

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