Irene Hammer Poet Free verse

Receiver Deserted

A castoff used only for the music purchased
purposefully, exceedingly carefully,
as though a mistaken choice would
distress the listener 
somehow
it went missing around the time you did.

I could only hope someone else was
pressing its buttons now – turning it
on and off at will, turning up the volume,
making it scream, holy hell, until 
the attention was on and for nothing else.

When it was around, nothing else mattered.

I could listen to its music all day and never 
be bored of it, but I didn’t want to rely on the music
it played to get through my day, to sit through inane,
purposeless meetings while I tried to look attentive, 
all the while wondering when I’d get the 
chance to play it again.

I recall it had been put down carelessly.
It wasn’t well placed in a spot I’d remember.

Complacent and common, somewhere it sat 
until someone smart enough to see it 
for what it was 
took it up, held it close, 
and would never let it go.

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