October 30th marked what would have been my late father’s 64th birthday. I was only 19 when he died so there’s a lot of stuff I never got to talk to him about. We didn’t always get along, but one thing that we definitely bonded over was music. He was big into the 1970s rock of his youth, but also kept up with the times (to a certain extent). He was a huge Springsteen fan, and passed that love down to me. This poem is about how, in some ways, I’m still getting to know my dad, even though he’s been gone so long. Enjoy.
You’re Not Strangers If You Like the Same Band No. 3
I really wish you could listen to the new Killers album.
Someone said it’s their Nebraska
and I quite frankly don’t know if you’d love
or hate that analogy
and I have a desperate longing to know.
But I’ll never know.
I’ll never know what you think
of all the music that came after you.
We will never listen to it in your truck
with the windows down,
talking about nothing on some cool afternoon.
You will never again quiz me about who sang this song on the oldies station
and I will never be able to ask you what it was like to see
Zeppelin in concert.
I can’t believe I never asked.
How selfish, how stupid, to not ask for every detail.
To not sit and bask in your memories
of warm, southern California summer days
or to ask what got you listening to Springsteen in the first place.
But I’ve got all this music you loved,
and a good set of headphones.
I’ve got time and the inclination and a hazy enough understanding of poetry
to wonder if maybe I can still get to know you.
If maybe somewhere buried in the liner notes
is a key to know you better.
I sometimes feel like we were strangers
but all this music tells me different.
Beautiful:)