45

45
By: James Dubeau

Sitting here
Gazing across the room
Watching the flames
Lick and curl
Slowly melting ice
Condensation dripping
Into my scotch
Aged from ‘45
Days of the past
Roll on through
Checked and marred
With tones of sepia
As an old-time movie
All of the errors
All of the mistakes
Everything done wrong
To lead me down
This path to today
When I turned 45
Violins play
Somewhere behind me
Scratched melodies
Waltzes and suites
Have soothed the souls
Since ages past
Needle upon vinyl
Spinning 45
In my lap
Wood and metal
Rests unmoving
Heavy and steadfast
Cold to touch
Reluctantly raised
To my temple
Cleansing away
All the demons
Haunting my soul
In a flash
Of my .45