day thirteen: a hobby / my next breath

deep into my childhood
the 1960s
fridays out
with my family
maybe azar's big boy
or dave's for dinner
followed by
a long stop
at a department store
wt grant
gl perry
clarks
goldblatts
shoppers fair

break free
from mom and dad
run
across the aisles
linger
in the toy section
viewmaster slides
spin the comic book rack
crashmobiles and
rows and rows of model cars
rat fink was our friend
rainbows of testors enamel
but all this was
only a distraction
an opening act
before my main destination

the record department was
powerful
truthful
my next breath
45s on long wire racks
78 cents each
jukebox singles
a little hole drilled
through the label
39 cents
bins of record albums
more expensive
harder to get
some were over three dollars
but a dollar less
for mono

i could usually get
a 45
maybe two
mr tambourine man
and satisfaction
96 tears
and last train to clarksville
the rain the park and other things
and i can see for miles
the letter
and light my fire
born to be wild
and licking stick
these were no ordinary
slabs of plastic
no idle
display pieces
for the wall
although i loved
looking at labels and
picture sleeves and
the smell
of new vinyl
my hobby
my life
was
The Music
that stood miles high
that traveled with me
my internal defender
my best friend
got me through
terrible schooldays
vengeful teachers
kids who were
beat too much and
passed it on
it was immunization
the rhythm
the melody
in my head
in my heart
the way each label looked
on the turntable spinning
all encompassing
all magic
all mine