This Is The Way We Live Now

Music has abandoned the sedentary life
Of home, the confines of the
White room where our speakers
Sat like roaring buddhas -
Fat double-act each side of the fire,
The organised lines of vinyl
Fade to the hiss and the jump
Of the un-sharp needle at the close
Of the final song. That chair by the
Unlovely houseplant was your private
Teleport to the territory of
Middle Eight, direct access to the
Stratosphere of Underlying Base
And the Realm of Reverb.
That rug in front of the hearth
Was regularly rolled and relocated
To the backstage borders of the
Outer floor boards every time
We decided to dance, which was often,
Fuelled with wine that improved
To the taste each year
With hangovers becoming the
More expensive kind – complex.
But before the morning-after toad had time
To take up position on the brain’s beam
The stereo unfurled a song-line of
Bent knees, kicked heels as we
Spun the dust of poor housekeeping
Till the wood warped and the
Neighbours paced above,
Below, on the fringes of our
Good Times like ticking clocks,
Those black-out blinds
Yawning at the uninvited morning.

That was then, this is the way
We live now,
A box in a pocket and
More songs that you could
Listen to in a long and
Uneventful life,
Music paces the pavements
With you, scenery moving like
A movie to the private
Soundtrack in your head.
Our white room
Avoided like the scene
Of an awkward accident.