The ESP shines in the corner.
When I first received that high school graduation present, I could not put it down. I routinely played Pentatonic scales, jazz fusion riffs and blues chord progressions in the basement. How many nights did I play Led Zepplin’s Black Dog or Pink Floyd’s “Wish you were here?” How many of my own melodies and solos did I perform for myself? I even jammed a few times with two unlikely musicians in my college dorm during freshman year.
Now, it catches the lamplight on each rounded claw of its sunburst cherry body. Its smooth frets hold a layer of fine dust. It stands in the corner of our family room, another item of our home décor.
Reminding me of all the songs I never played—even before the pickups failed.
the faintest echo of
a solitary strum
for dVerse Poets’ Quadrille #82 – Fretboard of Poetry (pubtended by Kim Russell). I may be a day late, but the Pub is still open! Come join us!