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Nostalgia

My brain atop the machine -
Kerplunk - A thought
ping-pong-ricochet-falls into a slot:

This time it’s the one where
she’s in the back of a convertible,
pulling fingers through soft curls;
the day is loud and fast and young

Another releases and
again a path is forged,
again a channel is opened:

Ruby, with her secret treasures
hidden in the dark, and I
with a child’s faith, reaching
for her wandering flame spirit

A pulling grows within me,
But alas, I am but a brain
atop this wretched machine

I’m unable to hold or help or hope
for more than this:

that he might remember my fingertips
and I,
I might find his memory.

Poetry by R.W.S.