The Country Radio
Lying silent
In a wheezing chest of words
Divining whirred messagings
Of a moth’s wings blurred
Paralysed beneath the duvet
Hearing his antenna morse
Rapid flapping mind verse
The country radio
Tuning from Earl Scruggs to beetles
Munching oak flecks
Blind above my head flesh
Creaks like floorboards
Spine is peeled
Breathes the walls
Listens to
A record playing
Whose scratch revolves in ragged time.
Copyright © Diane Leggett | Year Posted 2024
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