the ghosts of mixtapes past

piled high in the discount bin of the used record store down the street

all the 90 minute cassettes lovingly labeled in not quite cursive

the ones you made for me

the ones i made for you

the ones we made together

back to haunt me with clever themes


“songs for sunday morning”

“songs for driving the fellsway at midnight on friday”

“songs for punks who like italian opera”

“songs a through m [side 1] songs n through z [side 2]”

we hit play and record at the same time with two fingers trembling 

nervous to get it just right

then hit stop together

confident we got it wrong

and now they’re all back here in this bin

which is impossible

because i gave them all away a thousand years and a million miles ago.

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