The Polyphonic Thief

The Polyphonic Thief

I loved trains, with

Their bravado-like march

But when close, there was

No chugga-chugga, just overwhelming bass

Last time I enjoyed this,

I was two years old.  I

Was on my 3-wheeling Harley,

With all the sidewalk I could ask for,

And listening to “Highway to Hell.”

On my way home from the railroad,

I met Lincoln.  A white boat, and this old lady,

I never saw her face, just gray hair and a steering wheel.

I bowed before them.  They unceremoniously lurched atop me,

Andre the Giant had on white-metallic spandex that day, black rubber gloves,

Chrome teeth, maybe braces, and gray chest hair.  Never did see his face.  I knew

It was him though.  We wrestled, till his hair was breaking out of the spandex, ripping, distorting reality.  I think I was scared.  Or is it scarred? 

Darkness took me.

My head came out with the stitchings of a baseball,

Adorned with a body carrying a black rubber sash

Given for heroism, stupidity, or just pure grace.  

                                              The Polyphonic Thief robbed me.

                                              From that moment on, I never knew true sound.

© T.S. Graveline