Sonnet sequence XIII

XIII. Driving Blues

Slide out the little drawer, stick in the disc,
label up, shiny holographic
side goes down. I'm dodging freeway traffic
to the spinning CD's sound. The risk
of boredom evanesces in the heat
of blue Chicago fire and 'sixties burning
rock and roll. There's ancient vinyl turning
in the dark behind the driver's seat:
my memories of diamond needles, platters
stacked to four or five. That robot batter
swung his steel arm and lofted the pile
to safety. Now, these rainbow plastic smiles,
my constant companions. On an endless drive
music makes miles short and helps me revive.

It's difficult, with these last two, to keep them from turning into clones of the original. I think this is because I'm used to using the final lines, especially when they're a couplet, as a kind of summation. Consequently, they exert a backward constraint on the rest of the poem.

One to go!

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside