on hold

as you sit
at your desk on hold.
the music
of your youth
plays
on. squeezed clean
of vocals,
it's just strings now,
harmless with
soft drums.
a song you drank to,
danced to
flirted in the midnight
hour to
is now muzak
pumped into your ear
from
the dmv.
it makes you sad.
makes you want to cry.
makes
you want to hang up
and find
the vinyl record and play
it, but you don't
because if you did
you'd have to start
all over again,
and wait once more
on hold.