The Record

And the record spins around on the table
The needle releases the sound of each fable
Every scratch and pop are meaningful to me
As I dance in the arms of society

The waltz, the fox trot, the tango, the jitterbug
I dream and I dance away all my bitter luck
The men and the women are as beautiful as able
As the record spins around on the table

He is tall
He is strong
He is handsome
He is mine

I am short
I am fair
I am graceful
I am shy

And we twirl, and we spin, and we go around the hall
With diamonds, with gold, with crystal-mirrored walls
We dance and we leap and we laugh to the crescendo
Eventually it all comes to and end, so . . .

To the Victrolla I slowly return
And I shed a tear with each crank I turn
To be so happy I am unable
Unless the record spins around on the table.


Copyright 1998 Scott C. Forrest