Improbable box of peculiar dimension

(larger within than without)

& covered in plush fuchsia velvet

Upon lifting the lid

(which doubles as inset tray),

see, set deep within,

a turntable with LP rotating

r o t a t i n g

Lift the record up & out

Tilt it so light catches

& runs along the arc of grooves

incised upon its surface

Note, with some dismay,

that the wider, ungrooved rim slopes

& wriggles across

those tight concentric rings of song

(doubtless interruption)

& arcs toward the cardboard core

where the artist’s name is stamped:

L e d   Z e p p e l i n

Sudden undeniable urge to hear

that singular song incised upon the vinyl

Place the record back to spinning

Drop the needle,

see it skip & slide across the grooveless rim

(soundless, songless)

to bump & hiss against the printed core

Again

a g a i n

Fruitless effort

Reset the tonearm to its resting place

Return the improbable box-lid-tray

(smaller without than within)

What’s this?

Resting, now, in the tray’s concavity,

a fabric-wrapped-something that,

upon the freeing of its cloth,

is revealed to be nothing less than

the aviator sunglasses of

musician,

songwriter,

multi-instrumentalist,

& record producer extraordinaire

J i m m y P a g e.

Delighted, hold them cradled in hand

as the improbable & unexpected gift

(treasure)

that they are.

— C.Birde, 11/21