Broken Heartsong

Giltrap’s earworm instrumental is on the radio,
(ha, wifi-wireless, a chip in a tiny, squat cylinder)
what’s the title? Something meaningless,
I think,

    some kind of song?

                Funny, since there are no words.

I have the context, the milieu, the incidental
smells and tastes of then-and-ago.
Other sounds from the long-gone transistor:
you know,

    Pseudo-punk bands,
                    
                middle-class rebels in plastic.

It’s there and not there, not on the tip,
but behind my tongue, under my memory
in the dark parts of the brain: where,
they say,

    the amyloids lurk

                to knot your memory in tangles.