THE VOICE (THAT IS MY OWN)


when you are young, you girls of tomorrow
will dance to my love songs at the school disco
the boys will admire you and briefly desire you
what will you let them do before they tire you?

going home after and telling your father
“young people these days are growing up faster”
he ought to ask you but he doesn’t want to know
where you’ve been
or what you’ve done
so he just raises an eyebrow
“did you have fun? yes?”

go to your room and lock the door
pick up the record that they played the night before
you cry until your eyes are sore
turn up the volume till it won’t turn anymore
and the voice that make you feel you’re not alone is my own

when all you girls are women of eighty
and you have not been dancing much lately
then you’ll look back and dimly remember
how you kept warm that night in december

outside the school hall up by the car park wall
you remember the place but the face you cannot recall
before your passion went quite out of fashion you let yourself go
but you let no one know
quite what you lost on that day
and now the memory is slipping away

and then the darkness closes in
but there are echoes of a song you used to sing
you hear it as the lights grow dim
and one more time you feel his breath against your skin
and the voice that brings it all back home is my own

go to your room and lock the door
wipe off the dust from that old record in the drawer
you let the needle fall once more
then close your eyes and let your tears roll to the floor
and the voice that tells you that you’re all alone
is my own

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© david schweitzer 1996