Mindblowing was the word we heard
when the disc stopped spinning, lost its voice.
Slipped from its sleeve it became a wonder in our hands
– the unimagined Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Bought with shillings saved through weeks of thrift
it is now the souvenir of our days of looking into mirrors,
of another bygone Annus Mirabilis
but not the one Larkin named, his warm-up year
of 63 when the action started,
the years ahead like strawberry fields to be harvested.
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