This poem is the blues.
This poem is gritty vocals.
This poem is tequila shots at midnight.
Life wrapped in steel strings
responds to a guitar pick
plucking pain into chords.
He’s a thousand bars into salvation
singing to a beer choir that is
three sheets into amen.
Watching heads tilted back
downing tequila communion
he knows his last song must beat Cinderella’s clock.
Just another Saturday night
of singing it real to a congregation of souls
who have reached the worm in the bottom of a bottle.
This poem is the blues.
This poem is gritty vocals.
This poem is tequila shots at midnight.
©Susie Clevenger 2014
Hannah over at Real Toads challenged us with a poetic form she created, Boomerang Metaphors. I failed the metaphors (I think), but I was able to boomerang it. :)
Sunday Mini-Challenge ~ Boomerang Metaphors
Comments
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BTW, my son, Mike plays drums for a group that get gigs similar to your guys here. Mike is GOOD on the drum.
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