The needle — you remember needles — stuck
On an old record played
On an opera night
On a poorly heard but richly received
Loving listener supported station.
Twice it caught, so three times it played
The same feather of a song.
The host, whose finger gently
But surely bade the game go on,
Made no apology.
He knew, as did we still up,
The comfort and the affirmation
Of those little clicks sounding
Like the necklace shells of a dancing shaman.
“Clicking On” is from Bernard Goldhirsch’s recent collection of poems, “Something Else.” Formerly an English teacher in Brooklyn, he lives in Springs.