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      September 25, 2024Shirts of the Distant PastNed Balbo

      I remember you some mornings in the midst of getting dressed
      Surprised that I recall exactly when I wore you last
       
      The paisley patterns spilling over sleeves
      The Nehru collars nobody believes
      … were popular
      The turtlenecks no turtle ever wore
      Those V-neck disco shirts that dance no more
      … Spectacular!
       
      Are you lurking in the closet among other clothes I own?
      I gently touch your shoulder—a brief flash, then you’re gone
       
      The concert souvenir shirts we outgrew
      The obligation gifts we always knew
      … were wrapped in haste
      Thick cotton plaids lost lumberjacks would covet
      That college T tossed out, but how we loved it
      … still, such a waste
       
      You promised transformation, but what else did you require
      The full ensemble led us toward transcendence or desire
      (Attire of another age, accessories all the rage)
       
      Bell-bottom flares that took flight as we walked
      Embroidered jeans so tight that people talked
      … of nothing else
      Those bomber jackets earthbound boomers froze in
      Those leather wristlets grunge guitar gods posed in
      … with death’s head belts
       
      You folded in your fabric everyone I used to be
      Now that you’re gone, I realize I’m left with only me
      But if I run across you in some thrift shop bargain rack
      Or rummaging recycling bins, what else would you bring back?
      Who else will you bring back?
       
      Some nights I see you in my dreams of places far away
      I’m wearing you as if I haven’t aged a single day
      Shirts of the distant past, shirts of the distant past

      from #85 – Musicians

      Ned Balbo

      “I’ve played guitar since I was 5, keyboards since I was 13, and ukulele since I was 42, but my time as a ‘professional’ musician—someone paid to play—is scattershot and humble. Ice rinks, a Knights of Columbus Hall, a campers’ convention in Yaphank, a crowd of disco-loving retirees at Montauk’s Atlantic Terrace Motel, company picnics, school dances, private parties, and more—these were where I played guitar, sang, and devised versions of the Beatles, Bowie, et al. in two Long Island cover bands. The Crows’ Nest or Tiffany’s Wine-and-Cheese Café hosted noise-filled solo acoustic gigs, with more receptive listeners for original songs and covers of Elvis Costello or Eno at my undergrad college’s coffeehouse. More recently, I’ve written lyrics to Mark Osteen’s preexisting jazz scores (look for the Cold Spring Jazz Quartet on Spotify, Amazon, CDBaby, and elsewhere) and returned to solo songwriting and recording with ‘ned’s demos’ at Bandcamp. As a relic from the age when lyrics were sometimes scrutinized with poetry’s intensity, I listen closely to the sonics of language, whether sung or spoken, and look up to lyricists whose words come alive both aloud and on the page.”