by John Scott

An old man sits on the deck at the back of his house.
From a stereo inside, the sound of
Pepi Kolastopalus’s classic, Autumn in Greenland,
is heard through an open window.
The man swings an imaginary baton
leading the unseen musicians through the music.

A Cadillac convertible parks on the street
opposite the old fellow’s house.
The driver, in town for the music festival,
has long black sideburns and wears dark sunglasses.
The air on both sides of the street now throbs with noise
as the Cadillac’s tape deck blasts out
Elvis singing, You ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

A teenager walks by wearing sloppy pants
and a T-shirt with the words
I Support Single Moms printed across the front.
Headphones over his ears.

 

 

John Scott. I am 87 years of age and have read poetry for over 75 of those years – mostly classical.  Spend my time now pottering around trying to write my own stuff as well as reading, gardening and striving to make sense out of life.  Two years ago I was amazed to have a poem accepted for publication by a U.K. magazine called Acumen.