Last walk home from Doc's
Smoking his last cigarette
With Auggie Wrenn in Smoke.
Or myself when I was 11
Walking home with a record
To be played continuously
Until it drove my mom and sister nuts.
Back then my feet
Or my bike
Took me everywhere --
Sustained my vinyl habit.
Looking back, it's why the medic
That gave me my induction physical
Asked if I was a runner, even
After I'd smoked for eight years.
Today, 11-year-olds have
The whole history of recorded music
At their fingertips without leaving home.
Every man his own radio station.
I miss being schooled by
Guys that loved music like I did
And always had something they knew
I'd like, based on what I'd bought before.
But mainly what I miss
Is the walk home, anticipating
What I was about to experience,
But hyper-aware of my surroundings.
It was a pleasure I thought
I'd never experience again
Until a couple of years ago
And one I'll likely not enjoy again.
(Unless somebody opens
Another store on Montgomery,
Or Vickery, or Camp Bowie.
I'm not holding my breath.)