Poem: Perhaps

Looking back on Bogie and Bacall.

Perhaps Old songs drift across the bar Differing for every generation Bits and pieces of memories, clear as shattered crystal A young man in the fifties, my songs cry out from the thirties and forties The decades before me beckoning, while talking-up the eighties in the nineties Times gone, flown like Pierce Arrows, anachronous as Bogie and Bacall Forgotten roadhouses and dance-bands, unforgotten memories of heads on shoulders Drifting smoke, before the Marlboro Man Eyes that never looked away, but touched Conversations softly held and hands that, sometimes, softly held the words Will they celebrate nostalgia for today? The music no longer melody, but noise Will generations look back on these times, remember, yearn for them again from there? Perhaps

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection BROKEN PIECES available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.