Radio Man

The radio shop door
was always open
so us kids could hear the songs.
We’d hang around some Summer days
beside the sound
coming through the screen.
Songs ’bout yellow roses in Texas
or waltz dancin in Tennessee.
No songs of Brooklyn roads.
The radio man finagled
with his wires and his tubes.
Showed us how to fix things while
cherries were still pink
and apple blossoms white.
Sweet Connie would visit the radio shop
and I would get that funny feeling
still new to me.
Connie belonged to Charlie the sailor
who was off fighting commies
but sweet Connie would give me
that funny feeling.
All over.
And I would blush when Connie said
“Hello Frankie boy!”
‘specially in front of the guys.
“Ooooohh!” went the guys.
“Helllloooo Frankie boy!!”
And Connie would smile
at my blush and
visit with the radio man
while in my heart
love remained
a many splendored thing.
And the season passed
a hot Summer I recall
then chill Autumn leaves
and back to school again.
And one Saturday I heard the sound.
The new sound
coming from the radio store
And nothing was ever gonna be the same.
And the words played round in my head
’bout a lonely street and a hotel
and gave me that funny feeling;
my innocence came to an end and
the radio store soon closed for good
’cause radio man ran off with sweet Connie
who made me feel funny all over.
I used to wonder.
If she knew
she was the first.



originally published on the curated site Haggard and Halloo Publications

“We do not accept rhyming poetry or cliches about your soul.”



About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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3 Responses to Radio Man

  1. beetleypete says:

    Is this a re-blog, Frank? It feels familiar. (Very good, either way…)
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Liked by 1 person

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