“He had a blond Martin”

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 was.

I fell in love.

He didn’t.

(photo courtesy stock.xchng)






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