The Beatles are on Sullivan
and I’m about to be born.
There is no correlation
other than my mother
is watching them on television,
and though my eyes are developed
by now, they’re closed inside her womb
but I swear I’m hearing something
with these new ears of mine
that I’ve never heard before
(not only this thing called “music”
but the frenzied screams
of American girls);
and yes, once I’ve entered the world,
the melodies meant for me
will be simple and patronizing,
designed to soothe,
make me slumber,
and I’ll wail, scrunch my face
instead, demanding, in my own
wordless way, that the mobile
above me start to chime
She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah.
Andreas Gripp
RF Image
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