Day 639 of the daily poems, early September but not quite Autumn yet … rather like our poet Rob Primhak’s ‘Guitar’, I am old and battered now, and sometimes feel things rattle. Still, mustn’t grumble. Press on, chaps …
Guitar
He plucked me earlier today,
out of the blue. I sat in my stand
slightly askew as always, frayed
strings trying to stay in tune. His hands
feel frayed as well. Lumps here and there
like knots upon his knuckles. I thrummed
gently, resonant with anticipation. On his chair
he sat, arm draped around me, strummed
a chord, then picked my several strings
to find a melody. I am old and battered
now, and sometimes feel things
rattle as he plays. It doesn’t matter:
in his head and my heart we hear
a purer sound, sweet in the mind’s ear.
Rob Primhak