PAD Challenge Day 8
Sunday’s prompt was to write a rejection poem. Too many tired cliches came to my mind but in poetry, love and rejection go together like bread and . . . .
I’m not going there. Cliche, cliche, cliche. They are kind of like six-letter, four-letter words. Stear clear of them in poetry.
“He had a blond Martin”
He had a blond Martin with a pick-up,
I fell in love
with its mahogany aroma,
just thinking of it makes me kind of
warm and mellow all over again.
He used to chew a Fender guitar pick
until it snapped.
He played Stairway to Heaven with a broken
Gibson bronze high E and it sounded like
the Gilligan theme song.
He had a blond Martin with a pick-up.
He was dynamite and lemon, me guessing
at him–one day ruckus, the next bitter,
I fell in love with its mahogany aroma.
He bathed in musky sweat of blues and rock
blending hoarse vocals with reverb and bass.
they amplified a used Guild tight and lady-like making
me sound like a cross between leather and a gazelle.
He kept me guessing as to which he thought
I fell in love.
(photo courtesy stock.xchng)