A poem:

I found
My old Sony Sports Walkman.
On a high up shelf.
Dusty.
Yellow.
Beautiful.
Inside, a cassette.
There is no way I ever listened to Deepak Chopra.
Nor did I ever use a Sharpie to remind myself how to insert a tape.
Who has been messing with my Walkman!
Whoever you are, we need to have a talk, man.

Thank you.