Saturday Night At The Skate Rink
My lovely Julie pirouettes
on the ice.
Love Me Tender
is playing as if it will always
follow her,
a personal signature
like the way The Pink Panther Theme
would rise
whenever the pink panther
made an appearance
in my favorite
comedy.
Divorced, I watch my daughter Julie skate.
I have no signature riff
which follows me. Not now.
Not ever. Please Can’t Help
Falling In Love
is trailing another girl
who is gliding backwards,
as if love will always
follow her like a personal
assistant.
Round and round they glide
while I from a bleacher seat
try to ignore
my aching hip.
My back freezes,
and I have no more
mobility than a car
rusting in a junk
yard.
Romance long
was removed from my life, like the engine
in yet another vehicle
propped up on concrete
blocks. Are You Lonesome
Tonight croons
Elvis’ voice over the speakers,
as if I’ve finally found
my signature
song.
by Bob Bradshaw
Editor’s Note: The use of songs to color the narrative of this poem makes it easily relatable for many readers who’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
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