This is a rewrite of an oldie of mine…also inspired by Blackie (see the previous post).

I NEED A GUITAR RIGHT NOW (OR SOMETHING LIKE IT)

I know guitar playing
eats time I should reserve
for writing about world peace
or the nape of your neck. But

when it comes down to it,
I have grown to depend
on the pain in my thumb
I feel after two hours of picking.

I love playing this guitar
the way I love
the trouble you’ve been.
Everyone has their crutch —

some drink,
some vote Libertarian.
Mine is having the blues for you
in Open D.

Guitars are too frequently described
in womanly terms
by horny singers who get to personifying
those curves on lonely nights.

Maybe that’s why I sing of Handsome Molly
instead of kissing
the nape of your neck. It’s easier
to speak of her without choking up.

I can pretend the story is an old Kentucky song,
or something from an obscure rock opera
written by a singer who died tragically
on the Isle of Wight in ’72.

When I’m in love with someone,
I need a guitar to prove it. I slip on
my steady hand and rock between bass line
and melody; it’s just you and me

from here on in, for at least
three minutes and a half, more
if the mood takes us; and then
if nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen,

it won’t be from lack of telling.
Maybe all they can hear is you in the song.
Maybe
I’m finally getting it right.