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Aside
21 Jun


I was busted last night.

They found traces of hashish under one string

of my guitar.

They impounded it

as a dangerous weapon;

of life, love, and war.

Bail was set as a lifelong record

to be revoked,

between cross-walks,

                      neighborhood watch,

red lights,

and risks that I may take

that fail. For that matter

words that make matters pale.

What are they thinking about?

I really haven’t gone that far;

 nor, do I plan on leaving.

You can keep the string

behind black and censored

         steel bars.

But, as for me,

give me back

my five-string guitar.

My Five-String Guitar

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4 Comments

Posted by on June 21, 2012 in ignorance, Notes left on the refrigerator, Poetry

 

Tags: ,

4 responses to “My Five-String Guitar

  1. skipmars

    June 21, 2012 at 9:28 pm

    Takes me back to Arlo Guthrie and “Alice’s Restaurant.” And other implements of de-struction.

    Like

     
  2. ZQ

    June 22, 2012 at 2:31 pm

    🙂 I see we are from the same generation. I saw him a couple of years ago playing with his family. He still has the “stuff. Thank you for you welcoming visit.

    Like

     
  3. Helena (Hey! Lena)

    June 23, 2012 at 8:38 pm

    They’d have a ruddy good fight on their hands if they tried taking my guitar away!!!

    Like

     
  4. ZQ

    June 23, 2012 at 8:53 pm

    Out of the two or three guitars, I’ve had I still own that one; a 1968 Yamaha, well worn, well played and sits on its stand free. Now and then when I have a writers block I pick it up and go into foot stomping, (usually reflecting my mood, even though it’s folk) house shaking personal melody.
    Thank you for stopping by Hey! Lena 🙂

    Like

     

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