Hold the needle first
Like it’s a lover’s hand
Drop it down slowly
Let it lick
The cd’s ear
Then cultivate
The sweet bass
Blooming in the field
Of the notch
Laugh at people
That ask for things
What cook would let
The dinners allow
The entrees
Make up the menu
Young men
Think it’s all about
Sparkly flicks
Of the wrist
But it’s about filing the tile
With the excitement
Words of dance
And knowing the tempo
Of every cd.
Like a mom knows
Her kids cry
No one cares
How fast you slide
Because it’s not about
Soothing any bug
It’s about how many hairstyles
Are still styled
At the end of the night.