I Can Hear the Music

Behind the high fence

he plays his radio loud.

In the late afternoon sun,

gone from hot to warm,

I'm happy to listen unseen

to music I also like.

The wall of sound is dense.

I feel like one of the crowd

at a live concert – not here alone

in sprawling ease. To him

I'm invisible, unheard. My garden

is over the fence. He won't look.

It would make no sense

to him that my tastes are broad.

Advanced years like mine

enjoying hard rock, he can't fathom.

'Boyo,' I think, 'My generation –

we're the ones who invented rock!'

I restrain the urge to dance.

At the same time, I'm glad

that lively impulse hasn't gone.

Instead I unearth a poem;

it gives a cheeky grin
as it chooses the shape to take.

Written for Poets United's Midweek Motif ~ Music.