Modern

 

“Modern?”...STOP....”I must define.”

But first I smile and take my wine.

 

I lift my glass to faces past

to their laughter and love

Once spread....now dead.

 

I swallow the warmth

And ponder the thought

Of all the change that time has wrought.

 

When held to the light

Ruby red in the night

My wine glass seems ever constant.

 

Dining alone, I check my phone

The girl with pink hair

Takes a seat in her chair

 

I sip my wine and remember a time

I was hardwired to a wall

If I needed to call

 

“How’s my wine?” I am asked

My introspection unmasked.

I watch it fill to the top.

 

With my card I pay

To my car I say

“Directions back to 1975”

 

With a push button start

I still hold in my heart

All I yearn...and it’s not all so modern.

 

 

Pam Robinson Porterfield. 14 Nov. 2020