and pops her haphazard selection
into the six-disc changer
of her ten-year-old sedan--
an obsolete invention then;
now a manacled medium.
She's in the mood for hip-hop
despite the purple Sharpie
that was used to label the mix.
Skipping through tracks
she finds one that's suitable
for her mood in the afternoon traffic.
Ten seconds into the song
she hears DJ One-Off declare
his dropping album.
Two minutes later
a chorus is plagued by the same
overdubbed recording.
She wonders if the man
who burned this CD
bothered to listen
to the downloaded music
before committing it to gift.
It's unclear in her head
whether the driver in front of her
is drunk or playing a stereo
too loud to notice
that the blinker's still on
after the turn
and whether or not
the man who made her this mix
knew and didn't care
about the edited version
or didn't check prior
to slipping it her way.
She'll never know
which is worse.
The next light turns green.
She accelerates into
a misremembered minefield
through bear country
during suicide season
while the artist, long broke
recites a longhand apology
in triplicate.
Currently reading:
"The Art of the Rifle" by Jeff Cooper.
No comments:
Post a Comment