Clang, clang, clang, toots a trolley: X-s-teams,
though it's not the same San Fran by the Bay,
remembrance connects, perspective redeems,
sound stirs, 'Mathis', "It's Not For Me To Say".
Maintained posture as my observance probes,
heedless complacency, schemed convenience,
the prate news reader provokes our earlobes,
heroines chat as a girl grasps missed-chance.
Tram's next stop, the conductor ring updates,
abides fixed whiles, a life away smokes forth,
traffic noise flowing, like manmade primates,
shrieks giving birth...streetcar desired...part.
Ding, ding, ding, went the bell; attuned Judy,
"Voices of Spring", scratched slippers of ruby.
I’m Face-Timing with my Grandmère, we touch-base once a week. I love that face, wrinkled, like wind-weathered driftwood, and she’s a wag. “Are you familiar with the ECB?” She asks.
I wince at this odd turn in conversation, “Not REALLY,” I say, searching my mental index of useless facts and cross-matching those with her interests, “the European Central Bank?” I reply. “Oui.” she says.
“Let’s see,” I begin in a bored voice, “Inflation – transitory or persistent?” I say, in my best TV news-reader voice. “No,” I chuckle, “Not really, I have REAL, boring-things I’m learning about.”
“You’ll need to - one day,” she says, like a tarot reading oracle.
“I can’t imagine why.” I said. “I’m writing a few sentences about you!” I interject, to both change the subject and see what she says. She’s the only one in the family who knows I write.
“Oh,” she sighs, “Am I young, immoral and reckless?”
“Yes, you ARE,” I assure her, “you’re the worst.”
“Good," she confides, “I miss those days.”
.
Marriam Webster: a wag is a clever person prone to joking
My the words are so slow in my mind,
it’s the age when winter sets in,
the body not as vigorous as it used to be
But my words flow as if a stream
We can see the past and memories of those we left behind
Yet the words well up give hope to those afraid
And laughter to those who are sad
The words like a nightly news reader
They change but invariably the news is always the same,
some scandal, road trauma or the like, little changes, it just rolls on
We learn nothing from the past or history’s page
Life rolls on and we search for the reasons why we are here, nothing to fear
We never worried before we were here
And now my words have your ear
Let them be sweet, the searcher he searched
And now.. we are all here, nothing to fear