Wireless Becomes Radio Poem by James Mills

We called it the wireless,
glowing lime green on its own shelf
flanked by plastic posies;
votive offerings to a humming diety
intoning in alien accents.

Bidden never to lay hands on it
I'd surf the cramped waves
fleeing the prim Home Sevice.
Stuttgart, Stockholm, Athlone, Prague
crackled briefly in a fizz of static.
Wheezing accordians signalled Lyons,
Bonn goose-stepped by, a snarl of guttural chatter.

One hissing night I found Caroline
at dials end, one-nine-nine medium wave.
Right there, right then
wireless became radio.
No more sitting comfortably
this was strutting stuff -
tin can sounds across magic ether.
Speaker cloth puffed off the dust of years,
throbbing to a gale of rock 'n' roll,
the wind of change came blowin',
cool, ultra-cool breath fanning new flames.

Born to staid parents, Volume and Tone,
a brand new baby; Noise.
Caroline and I dated most nights,
I repeated her words to my friends-
until they scuppered us.