That Summer
It was always hot and
It had always just rained
We played that CD by the Flaming Lips
Again and again
Drops of water on the leaves of bushes
Gleamed like disco lights in the sun
We listened to that album every day
Back when you might reasonably put an actual CD
On repeat. On purpose.
That silver disc stayed still while the world
Span and danced around it
We sang along and got the words wrong
And made robot noises where appropriate
We took the robot noises very seriously
Zaps and crazy electronic swooshes
Fuzzy shrieks that made us laugh
As empty bottles of beer threw
Lazy rainbows across the floorboards
It was a descent, of sorts
A deliberate collapse
Into something we knew wouldn’t last
Back in that brief, grainy, high contrast Summer
Back when albums were physical things
That came to an end
Another good one.
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