Saving Vinyl

Saving Vinyl
 
“Can I help you?”
he says.
My back hurts as I lean over
crates of albums,
LPs
33s, Vinyl--
Scratched, warped,
&coffee stained,
frayed cornered
cardboard covered art.
 
He shows me
the perfect ones
shrink wrapped and
shiny labeled
stacked between the originals.
Newly remastered vinyl--
“Digital perfection,”
he says.
“Really?” I look at him suspiciously,
“don’t need a turntable for that.”
I want the real thing
that scratchy hiss
and that voice…
 
She stares at me
longingly,
from the bin,
dark hair
white dress
​and sandals…

I reach for the album.
“I’m not ready for perfection yet,” I say.
I turn and walk away
Karen and
a couple of bucks
in my hand.
 
the road to utopia paved with dinosaurs’ bones

Previously Published Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review Winter 2019