Life: A Record

Polyvinyl chloride disc
with modulated spiral groove,
you’re up to scratch,
you’re prone to snap,
your pop’s crackle makes me move.

You turn the tables,
you’re fragile, an uncalculated risk.
I love you thirty-three and a third more times
than any compact disc
(and forty-five times more
than a download
from an online store).

Digital is clinical,
cuts the air like a surgeon’s knife,
but vinyl has the touch, the feel,
and surface noise of life.

the slipped disc

in a clumsy attempt
to install
your hegemony
you declared
you were not one
to stand on Ceremony
only to find
yourself floored,
having slid
on the vinyl
you’d implored
me to get rid of
but which had now
turned its final

tread softly
because you tread
on my record collection