Guitar poem: Strum?
Strum?
The guitar does not roar
suspended, diminished tones
supplicate silence.
Chords wait in the wood
wondering, withering, waiting
as the steely strings
become tarnished and frail.
The neck and pegs have strained
so long that they could not relax
if unbound.
The hollow body and solid spine are fused.
The bolts have never been unfastened
and the frets fret to let loose
a nervous chuckle
as the steely strings
become tarnished and frail
and cannot be tightened to
tune up, only down.
No standard key will hold
the lock to allow the notes
to flee
the steely stings reverberate
with memory and will not
be replaced easily as
they become tarnished and frail
withering, wondering, waiting
SNAP