Kurt

On a gym floor back against a wall
Earbuds injecting Nirvana on drip
Score of my youth
Lubricating rusty hungers
Towing me across time
Where was I when I heard it first
Was I angry like Kurt
When I rode summer nights
Windows down and music up
And now as I ride Sagan’s blue dot
Is there catharsis in a riff
Or just the familiar scent of my teen spirit
Floating through the room

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Stronger Lessons”)