She Called It Kicker
In the corner lies a relic
of fierce camaraderie,
of battles fought with banter and laughter,
of a summer whose warmth
ceases to be.
Soaked in blue is
a lackadaisical replica of the old guitarist
that hangs atop,
a remnant of gleeful frenzy
that had paint running down on your cheeks.
I took off those damned polaroids,
hanging on a thread, sun-bleached and forgotten,
they had metamorphosed into pesky vermins.
Space’s empty now. I do not know what goes there.
Some vinyls are stacked ‘neath
those unmoved steel rods,
a few potted succulents,
their numbers are slowly growing,
look over the boxed field.
This, all this, it’s been a while.
Clean this all out?
I have gone back and forth
like a human yo-yo.
Ich denke dein.