Google him

for Rick Beato

Paul was always my favourite.

He wrote the Beatles' catchiest tunes,

and when that was over

didn't miss a beat with Wings.

I liked him best because

he didn't have John's moodiness, 

or George's aloofness, 

didn't hide in the back like Ringo.

He shined but could still be one of the boys,

someone you could imagine

sharing a joke and a pint at the pub.

Wasn't afraid to sing silly love songs 

full-voiced, and knew personal tragedy too,

loss, heartbreak, but never let it 

get in the way of a hummable melody,

and we all need that.

What do you think of the Beatles?

I ask my Uber driver as she fiddles 

with her cel stuck to the dash,

flipping between Waze and Spotify.

 

Hip-hop is playing, lots of rhyming words,

a thumping beat, no melody.

She isn't much older than my daughter,

the car is electric, almost soundless, 

zero emission.

Don't know them, she says.

What about Paul? 

I mean McCartney, 

ever hear of him? (I'm thinking she might know 

his solo stuff

Maybe I'm Amazed. Live and Let Die 

the Bond movie theme). 

Nope, she says. 

Maybe the greatest songwriter 

since Irving Berlin, I say, incredulous. 

A living legend. 

Blank stare

from the rearview mirror. 

Google him, I say. 

We're stuck in traffic,

car's not moving.

Feeling the pressure build,

I say, maybe we should turn here,

take a detour.

No worries, she says,

the car knows the way.