OPP: other people’s poetry

It is weird that people now refer to the drug itself rather than the delivery device. “I haven’t had my caffeine today,” or “I’m on a nicotine buzz,” or “I need methamphetamine, stat.” This reminds me of that birth control commercial that used the word “orthotricycline” so many times I thought I was at a Scientology center.

An old friend just called and started reading old poems of ours from high school. I cringed to hear them again, but they were better than expected. This invoked a strange double nostalgia. Back in the day we used to call and read our poems to each other, so not only was I hearing them again for the first time in years, but also tripping on the memory of him calling me to read it aloud.

I miss the days when calling and reading to each other was of the utmost importance. I know, discussing 401Ks has its place, but it’s not quite the same.

I have a benevolent understanding and appreciation for my old poetry that is novel; over the past dozen years I have disdained it, and for that matter everything having to do with my behavior in high school. When in life things become far enough away to see clearly, it seems proper to bask in the beauty of that moment.