Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               Flute Solo Through a Scratchy Record

From a tiny speaker in a tiny radio
From a broadcast fifty miles away
From a scratchy record some fifty years old
From the lips of a flutist no longer alive

An artist whose parents and teachers long ago
Spoke of embouchures and possibilities
Of lessons for however many dollars each
Saved from a job down at the shop or mill

And from the people, hardworking and strong
Someone worked those lives into a song

Old friends corrupted by the apotheon,
Old fiends so wretched.
New **** as if we're more wholesome,
New hope for a free agent.

The weekend comes and goes,
I should party more. At night I go driving
around G-town in my old Lexus.

How does a man on earth live,
Does he live like this?
Exhausted,