After The Explosion

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photo by Kyla Houbolt, posted as #GreenwayPoet

Ominous dial-up noises ensue,
ensorcel memory out of its drift
where it happily had been gathering
spacedust, pocketing the prettier nuggets.
But strange persistent noises jarred memory
out of its reverie, it had heard those
sounds once surely but what,
what could they be? A sort of buzz and then
in disharmonious pitches, quietly,
“bleep blorp bleeeepscree blorp p p ” —
ah. Ah yes. Now memory finds within
its inner folds (actually shaped like an ear,
did you know?) the resonance of an older
tech or perhaps a newer one, time is so
squinchy out here. But yes, they used
to sing this anthem or versions of it
to each other, at the beginning
of all conversations both important
and trivial. Well, funny, isn’t it,
what memory can encounter
on its way out?

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