Fingerprints

My father didn’t have

A record

Collection

 

He had a

Record library

 

I’d say he had

Close to a thousand

Record albums

 

He treated each

Album with the

Utmost respect

 

He’d take an album

Out of its jacket

like a newborn

 

Touching only

The edges

 

Making sure to never

Get fingerprints

On the grooves

 

Each record

Was black

 

The grooves were

Like the waves

In my father’s hair

 

He used pomade

But never got it

On his albums

 

His collection was

Impressive:

 

The Drifter’s greatest hits

 

Miles Davis…Seven Steps to heaven

 

The Electrifying Eddie Harris

 

Willie Bobo

 

I listened to

Those records

 

Tony Bennett

 

Sinatra

“In the Wee small hours of the morning”

 

I wasn’t allowed

To touch

His albums

 

But I did

 

I tried to be

Careful like

My dad

 

But I’d get

Fingerprints

On those records

 

Dad would take a record

Out and hold it

To the light

 

He could

Detect those

Fingerprints

 

He truly

Missed his

Calling

 

He should’ve

Been a

Cop

 

Those records

Spun

 

Beautiful

And black

 

And shimmering

In the

Rain

 

And nobody

Ever took

My fingerprints

 

Except my

Father

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s