Good Old Fashioned

Good old fashioned


She threw out the words
like a badge of honour,
proof of value, quality, worth.

It was like she believed
things really were different,
so much better then, before.

The cars, the dresses, the hair,
the men. The afternoon teas
and the cricket whites, hot air

balloons, glimpsed once, billowing
over the downs, drifting colours
in the hot blue sky; dreaming

freedom. Do we all get like this?
Lose the thread of reality
in a vein of memory, dismiss

what is for what was, is lost.
As if the fifteen second lag
feeding us past and present

simultaneously, accumulating
continuity, sacrifices accuracy.
Leaves us wanting.