Life Before and After Stereo

I was thirteen and new. Upperclassmen
flattered me in spite of my braces and glasses
and still tried to cop-a-feel of satiny smooth skin
and tender peaked nipples.

We played 45 rpm records, even a few remaining 78s.
Black disks and dancers circling, music simpering
or pounding, kids doing the bebop or a slow waltz
with their steady, cheek-to-cheek in the darkened room.

I remember
In the Mood, Caravans, At Last, and
other tunes of the time. My favorites were
Nat King Cole, Frankie Laine,
and a boy of sixteen from school named Ronnie Giovannoni.

Stereo came into my life, sounds of woofers and tweeters.
We listened to the tennis matches, ball bouncing
from one speaker to the other, and of course
Tchaikovsky’s  1812 Overture. With the right equipment,
your needle would jump when they shot off the real cannons.

Listening to music, instead of dancing to it–life was all stereo-––
work, boys, discussions with our parents and the waste
we were leaving behind.