Loved this poem about a man who had never heard of Frank Sinatra. A rather silly premise carrying a faint whiff of plausibility. It is reminiscent of the popular movie trope when a big secret comes that close to being revealed and each time an interruption occurs that prevents it. And in the interim, lives continue to unravel when a lot of pain could have been averted just if the words were spoken out loud that needed to be. In movies, closure comes in the end - the secret is finally revealed and order resumes. But it is possible that it never does.
People do carry sins, omissions and secrets to their grave. What the poet describes could also happen to a phenomenon that is very short-lived, you could legitimately miss that moment and all could be forgotten forever. So many have their fifteen minutes of fame on social-media these days. They could be trending one day and pass into oblivion the next. So if you weren't there when they were most visible chances are you will never know they existed and you just did not know. Much like this man who never heard of Frank Sinatra.
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