I stacked the stereo with discs,
And, as the records spun,
I toiled before the ironing board –
And sound and I were one.
The diamond-needled messages
Rose and spilled and spread.
My harking spirit dreamed; bemused,
The mantle timepiece sped.
My gingham dress became a gown
Of satin, and these walls
Stretched out and over, folding in
A hundred concert halls.
’Though routine rules the day, who cares
When small horizons widen,
Encompassing the mighty scope
Of Chopin, Bach, and Haydn?