As it Ended, poem by Millicent Borges Accardi at

As it Ended

As it Ended

written by: Millicent Borges Accardi



Softly, slowly and in a hot rush
Wish to leave through the creek
Outside the window. As it ended
Was like returning the first record
I ever bought because it skipped on
One side and returning it and
discovering the same skipped track
Of “I Think I Love You,” on the same
side of The Partridge Family’s Up
To Date album that I had saved
for to get at the Warehouse on 2nd Street
in Belmont Shore It was ripping off
the plastic, smelling in the odor
of a Baby Tender Love doll
and the anticipation of a grown-up
ambition for sound, for water breaking,
the loaming music of a crib and the texture
of a baby blanket that could be held
or stepped on and misinterpreted.
As it ended, it was tracks skipped,
A life spent on repeat with an arm
weighed down by a nickel, while
the song played. As it ended was
a frustrated store clerk who told us
the record was from s bad lot, “cheap
goods” he said, shoving the third record
into the orange plastic bag, saying:
“They manufacture thousands at a time.”
He said, “No one cares about quality.”

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