Yeah, Yeah, Yeah…

Waking up listening to
the Beatles on a Saturday morning,
a lot of years too late.

Later on this same station will play
the esoterica of the ’60s and ’70s
all the way from eight to twelve noon.

I will likely listen to all of it.
I’m here for it even if I’m not listening
closely, even if I have to leave

to go elsewhere because
this was my life, this was my
timeline — and how old are the DJs anyway?

They will play
anything relevant to the timestamp,
even as I complain.

Why don’t they
yearn for new tunes, tunes that speak
for them?

Maybe these tunes do
and the times are expanding? I don’t
know, don’t know a thing.

We have all
stopped listening to the moment,
I guess. Or perhaps we listen at night

when no one cares what we do —
when alone at night we long for someone
else, someone to sing about us

and how we aged into this, how the country
ain’t the same even, how dumb we’ve all
turned, how easy it was

to fall away from the time
stamped upon us
even as it burned indelibly

and left its awful mark. Yeah, yeah,
yeah — I mean, we can’t even
look away from the scars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T