POEM - Anachronisms

It was probably the fourth
But at least the third
Declaration of thought
On the same road
In the same park
And nearly verbatim
In each iteration
In a cadence
Mere seconds apart

I tried to be subtle
In my desire for quiet
Make a small suggestion
Hope for a contextual perception
To penetrate the subconscious
Of the perpetual preteen
Occupying the back seat
I asked
Calmly
If he knew
How a broken record sounds

In a smartaleck way
He fired back
In an obnoxious tone
Some weird robot sound
No, I answered
Not it
A broken record
Repeats the exact same thing
Over
And over
And over
Until it gets fixed

But that might have been a poor example
For someone just born
After vinyl was declared dead
Who never spent hours
Glued in one general vacinity
Intently listening
To the non-portable music machine
With delicately balanced needle
Warmly sending out the tunes
Unless it gets a hiccup
Starts to skip
Jumping back in time
Playing that same phrase
And even if it matches
These old sayings
May be losing their strength
On this younger crowd

But I still use them
Keeping it alive
I'd rather explain
Ad nauseum
Than lose the idea
And he can adapt
The little twirp
Cause he is a broken record sometimes
And it does explain it perfectly
And he can learn
My anachronistic ways