It was a fast read and I related
to the inside of the character’s head,
but now, the problem is that Kenny G and his
sexy saxophone won’t get out of my head
either. It’s not torture; as a child, “Songbird”
used to lull me to sleep in the back seat
whenever he played on Adult Contemporary
But I get it, how innocent noise
can sound the way a dozen mosquito bites feel.
Like the way my mother loved the Bee Gees
but would never let “Tragedy” finish
on the cassette tape, or how
I changed the station whenever Celine Dion
covered “Feliz Navidad” every Christmas,
as we are both prone to cringing, crawling
skin in tight spaces.
Or, when life is going easy, and I’m having
a normal chat, or flipping pages
through a magazine at the check out line,
and someone catches me off guard
by saying “impressed” or “impressive”
I get stuck on that word and I hear it again
in your voice. Then I remember what you
told me the last time we spoke, as a throwback
played in the background, when I was
still so eager to be liked,
then a little sadness starts to fog the hour.
And how, it’s kind of funny (or not)
how every conversation (the song too)
leads me back to your voice,
and now this all makes sense.
Note: Well, this poem went somewhere completely different from where I intended…
Also, a little background: the most interesting and comical part of the book was how the main character would get triggered by music by Kenny G–his arch enemy.