by Danielle Casias
Under a pile of old socks
In that dusty old box,
I knew her name from the start
The beautiful Dolores Park.
I knew her from a time long ago
When life was never low.
Back when VHS tapes ruled the weekends
Families torn apart but always made amends.
The receipt that held her name gave me my first clue
She worked at Blockbuster, proud yellow and blue.
Kind of like Netflix?
Correct—except, there were no fancy gadgets.
Just a tape and its player due back day three
Out Fridays back Sundays or else pay the late fee.
My dear Dolores Park,
had the voice of a lark.
I will never forget how she could ring up a rental.
Just the thought of it makes me mental.
Wait, how old is this box I’ve got?
I never returned it, no I did not.
