Poem 47

Here is another poem written in syllabics; I can't remember what number the previous one was. This one has seven syllable lines alternating with six for no reason other than that's how the first two lines went.
It typically takes me a lot longer to put together one poem like this, but on the plus side I can only hem and haw so much; I've fiddled with a free verse or five much more than I did with this one.

VHS to DVD

The machine hoards the disk and
waits, guessing the space left for
my grandfather’s old movies.
I slip from the cover
the old VHS cassette,
which carries, like echo,
my mother at the beach, her
head small behind large sun
glasses, a diaper bulging
her suit. A fast forward
later and Grandma blows out
thirty-eight candles. If
you watch until the static,
Grandpa drives the new boat,
nephews play croquet outside,
Mom dances, white dress on.

Ten years ago we paid a
man 40 bucks to spin
five reels onto cassette
tape; he went to church with us.
He seemed like a wizard,
putting this all to one slim
plastic box to sit on
the cabinet shelf, resting
against exercise and
old cartoons. I think of how
we once watched the tape and
slid it back in its slip case
like Grandpa putting books
on the shelf after bedtime
and leaving the hall lit.
That light projected shadow
on wall and floor: big shapes
he said were nothing, sleep tight.

When will we watch family
shadows at the Legion hall
dancing on a new screen?
The record button sinks in
to the remote control.
I pass on the stories with
plastic, as if etching
the things once more makes them last,
the signal fading, soft.