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