An old song on the radio
is heard again in one’s forties
after many years of interlude
during which the song
and memories of the song
have lain apart, dormant.
At the song’s new playing
here in the diner on a Saturday
some old idea is newly understood,
a truth revealed which had been hidden
years before back when the song
was often played on the radio.
How to reply, from that point on
when the children ask “Is this the one?”
Something has changed.
Background sounds intercede;
forks clinking, murmured conversation.
The song plays on. You know each note.
“It was my favorite, when I was young.”
-B Taylor, 2016