Give me a skating rink,
eight neon-green wheels, a disco floor
where it's '90s Night, every night.
Give me a flannel shirt, a pair
of Guess jeans. Give me Kurt Cobain.
Give me his cheerleaders,
the ones that jumped
just the way we felt, like we were full-
of-life zombies. Give me a tin
of Maxwell House instant vanilla latte,
that lived in the cupboard before Starbucks.
Give me a good game of Oregon Trail.
Give me dysentery and four oxen.
Let me leave in March so I can avoid
the worst part of winter. Give me two
hours at a park where everyone hears
the grass. Give me French fries without
acrylamide, a Bob's Big Boy, an Arnold's
Family Restaurant. Give me a phone
with a rubbery, spiral cord and plastic,
square buttons. Let me push each
button hard, hear every clear, single tone,
call a yellow cab an hour before
we need it. Give me Steve Urkel,
or at least a set of leather-bound
encyclopedias, where I can look
things up alphabetically, where Alexa
can't say, I don't know the answer
to that. Give me a television show
with a woman whose bangs defy gravity,
give me the time during the commercials.
Give me an episode of Girls Gone
Wild at 10 PM, and Lorena Bobbitt
on News at 11. Give me a VHS player,
rewind button, let me hear the whirl
of tape going backward so I can walk
across the street to Blockbuster and drop
it in the slot before midnight.
Give me the song "1999" before 1999,
before Y2K, when everybody thought
the world was going to end;
when the world, as we knew it, did--


From At the Table of the Unknown (Moon Tide Press, 2019).
Used with permission.