There's something to Sinatra
on speakers small enough to hear
the plastic drum rattle
against the plastic grate of its housing,
something that lets the eyes see
the smallness of filmstrip
slipping left and right and
click click clicking back in focus,
and the nodding projectionist
and the theater box seats
and tipping ash into an ashtray
and watching the gray curls
obscure the light
through my afternoon windows
I've seen the movie before, and I notice,
for the first time in a long time,
that it wasn't scored for me,
that I just work here.
