I guess it’s time to dip my toes in. It’s been, well, a really long time since I’ve written poetry, so I am going to go with the prompt for today that was posted on the NaPoWriMo site, and will do “a poem inspired by the song that was #1 on the day that you were born.”
For the record, the #1 song on 31 August 1979 was “My Sharona” by the Knack, a song I have sung at karaoke strictly because of the fact that it was the #1 song on the day I fell out of my mother. I have recently heard it on oldies stations. If, by some strange reason, you have never heard “My Sharona,” it breaks down like this: Opening chords make people approaching middle age dance. 25 year old guy in the Knack has a thing for a 17 year old girl. A 64 measure break for karaoke singers needing a pee break. My my my i yi woo.
Thirty three years later, she’s a high end real estate agent, he’s dead, and I have a poem I kind of like.
Sharona is not a nymph,
the way that a photo of a home
(landscaped lot, inground pool)
is not somewhere you can sleep
or cool yourself off and escape
Los Angeles traffic and heat.
The photo is the promise
that by spending three million
you, too, could escape
Los Angeles traffic and heat
and choose one of four bedrooms
to dream new, more affluent dreams.
Her photo is the promise:
white tank top, braless, hair
hiding her eyes in shadow,
the high waist of her tight jeans
the only sign on the 7″ sleeve
that makes the moment then, not now.
Is it just a matter of time, Sharona?
Neither the world nor love is young.
It’s hard to find a 7″ single these days.
I heard you on an oldies station
wedged between station identification
and a song I imagine you once danced to.
Still, there will always be a guy writing poems,
or crafting songs for someone younger than he.
Maybe Sharona is a nymph–muses were nymphs too.
That’s where time stops. That is the photo.
The song is the photo.
Sharona sells real estate.