Tonight's Poet Corner: Callback
Callback
by Belinda Roddie
She reminds me of the 80s: The high
ponytail, the pastel explosion across
her blouse, the bellbottoms screaming
for the Flower Power to come back for
a final kiss. She sings to late-stage
Genesis on the radio and Rick Astley
past his Youtube reputation, and she
dances to the last dredges of disco
before the bottle runs dry.
Me, I pretend I'm a 90s kid, though
in truth, I'm a product of the Iraq War,
Hurricane Katrina, and 9/11. I smell
fear like hot silicon when I flip open
a Razr. The ribbed sweaters and daisy
dukes hide the latent homophobia, with
three or so states waving rainbow flags
before the Pulse stopped ten years later.
Some things don't change, but we like
to pretend that we're evolving - and we're
just enjoying the sips of past generations
that have been scanned and proven harmless.
After all, the rose tinted glasses fit so well
under flower crowns and headbands
when you forget the bitter aftertaste
of the times.
by Belinda Roddie
She reminds me of the 80s: The high
ponytail, the pastel explosion across
her blouse, the bellbottoms screaming
for the Flower Power to come back for
a final kiss. She sings to late-stage
Genesis on the radio and Rick Astley
past his Youtube reputation, and she
dances to the last dredges of disco
before the bottle runs dry.
Me, I pretend I'm a 90s kid, though
in truth, I'm a product of the Iraq War,
Hurricane Katrina, and 9/11. I smell
fear like hot silicon when I flip open
a Razr. The ribbed sweaters and daisy
dukes hide the latent homophobia, with
three or so states waving rainbow flags
before the Pulse stopped ten years later.
Some things don't change, but we like
to pretend that we're evolving - and we're
just enjoying the sips of past generations
that have been scanned and proven harmless.
After all, the rose tinted glasses fit so well
under flower crowns and headbands
when you forget the bitter aftertaste
of the times.
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