The jukebox of our life,
it's in the corner
of the Waffle house
on Route 59.
It swoons Ray Charles,
blasts that Simple Minds,
aches with Sinatra;
toys with memories.


Ruby rouge, twinkling
with faux glitter spots
and rusty buttons
and rusty records
and a dust-layered
smile of grey chrome.

The jukebox of our life,
it's in the corner
of the Waffle House
on Route 33.
Why don't we meet up
and swoon, blast, ache, dance
to the ruby rouge
again, you sweet boy?