There’s a place where I can go and tell my secrets to… (Brian Wilson)

 

In a room,

a child not yet a teen,

sits full of good vibrations.

The vinyl stolen from parents

crackles with life,

static and promises of a long summer for all.

Surfboards, so alien to this coast of estuary and mudflats,

yet the glow of California dreams and girls perforates his reality.

 

Do it again and play the records,

and get around to chasing girls amongst beach promenade chalets

and dunes,

especially the one called Wendy.

Oh! how God can only know the bliss of these moments,

in that room of aural amusements parked well away across from Atlantic USA.

The ’60s is a full decade before his,

or of how he might one day get to visit salt lake city, wherever that was.

 

His rusty bike in the garage in need of repair

is a little Honda of escape

to the quiet countryside green

in hope of finding and keeping a farmer’s daughter of delights.

 

Don’t back down from your dreams

is the drive to being alone in a room with your music. 

 

Now at age 50, in this post-millennium world,

I can agree with Brian, that I just wasn’t made for these new and uncertain times, 

 

but that sun kissed music will always be with me tonight,

so that I can constantly smile,

alone or not,  in my room with my parent’s records.