My father didn’t have

A record



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



The Drifter’s greatest hits


Miles Davis…Seven Steps to heaven


The Electrifying Eddie Harris


Willie Bobo


I listened to

Those records


Tony Bennett



“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


On those records


Dad would take a record

Out and hold it

To the light


He could

Detect those



He truly

Missed his



He should’ve

Been a



Those records




And black


And shimmering

In the



And nobody

Ever took

My fingerprints


Except my








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