Ode to the Red MP3
By Nia Jones
Hear you playing
Like an orchestra.
Your strings, bass, percussion
In each and every song come together
Just profoundly.
Like a great, big, musical family reunion.
Your melodies gently brush
Against my music–craving eardrums.
Their heavy lust for your music
Is indescribable.
It’s not a want, no, it’s definitely a need.
I guess you could say my ears
Are addicted.
Addicted to you like a drug.
Sing to me, your music is medicine
To my open emotional wounds.
They heal my anger and sadness
Like a doctor. However you
Don’t have a PhD, do you?
Boom! Da-Boom!
The bass in some of your music
Beats a steady rhythm
Somehow always in sync with my heart beat.
And as your tempo increases, my heart’s reaction
Is
To copy and thus match your speed.
An unconscious body begins to tap along
And before I know it . . .
I’m dancing!
My friend, how do you have the
Ability
To mind-control me like that?
How do you take over my body
As a puppeteer would?
But however you do it,
Don’t cease action!
I love the feeling it gives me.
I pick and choose what
I want to listen to and
You reply without any question, hesitation or doubt.
A lyrical servant, who caters to me.
Oh! Have not I mentioned your tolerance?
No even I, myself, would want to sit in dark trenches
We humans call
“Pockets.”
Yet you spend most of your time in my trenches.
You might as well call it
Your home.
You, my one and only music player,
Are my life
But who am
I
To you?