Eric Ashford Poet Free verse

Post-Modern Juke Box Experiences

There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West,
not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations 
that remain as was, 
for lack of a reason to be other.

Restaurants steeped, not in nostalgia,
but in a comfortable inertia;
diners that serve 
broast, broiled and breaded,
drive-ins where the movies you missed
can now (if you have a mind to),
miss again.

We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box
but a wood and chrome depository
for archived time-warping selections.
Beer here has a fabled and dusty history, 
and is brewed as meaty as a rolled-up forearm.
Astronauts are grown here,
the moon is their backyard,
their silvery spaceships
launch each year from every State Fair.

We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way,
we are as post-modern as Jetson reruns.
We dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.

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Maureen McGreavy Pigeon Tart December 27, 2019 at 9:17 AM Superb poetry. I have a difficult time reading most things, but some of your works go down like warm cocoa (many with a lightheaded rendering stiff shot). ;), xomo Eric Ashford December 27, 2019 at 11:14 AM Thank you Maureen, funny that, I mean some of these poems arise from a 'stiff shot' or two! Have a great day.