The Radio

it sat, plugged in, 

on the stand where his

keys and wallet once lay,

yellow

shouldered in wood.

the unlit dials, a clock too.

with luminous

hands,

and when

i turned it on,

the small webbed

mouth came alive

with a surprisingly

bright loud sound.

the news of the day.

warbled in adult tones,

a serious man, who i imagined

had a mustache

and a pipe in hand.

i turned the dial, through

the static woods

until music played.

can't buy me love.

then i want to hold your hand.

i wasn't glad that he was gone,

but

fine that he left his radio

for me

to play and play and play.