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A Smart-Mouthed Decrepitude MAG
February 2, 2021
When I was born
The radio laughed;
and we listened with the volume
blaring on earnestly.
The hardware was lively
the software was cheeky.
Transmitting, receiving...
In her wrinkles:
a century of smiles.
When I was maturing
The radio snickered
and I listened with the volume
smiling softly.
The hardware was wearing
The software was mischievous.
Receiving…
The rocking chair lulls,
but a little more slowly.
Now I am matured
The radio sighs
and I listen, though the volume
is hesitantly marking time.
The hardware is worn
The software is broken;
Feedback.
White hair and hearing aids:
An empty shell.
© Anonymous
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This piece is an ode to my grandmother; it is not intended to be explicitly sad. It is a poem representing acceptance of death, not the pain of loss.