THE GUITAR PLAYER

Greasy hair under his baseball cap,

day old stubble on his double chin,

he picks away on his Gibson guitar,

eyes half shut easing the guilt

of leaving his family behind.

Miles of road ahead of him,

rain hits the windows of the tour bus,

he's seen them all----the farmlands,

deserts, mountains, woods and 

skyscraper cities.

Booze and smoke cloud his brain,

he can't remember when he had a

home-cooked meal last,

he's played in all the honky-tonk

dives from here to there,

he still smiles at the pretty women

who give him the eye cause they 

love his music and masculinity----

he's the guitar player.

Reviews

[GalaxyGhost]

I like this poem for its hilarity, especially when it described the guitar player having greasy hair and stubble on his double chin. It's funny and your description on the third verse gives the guitar player quite a personality. It sounds very entertaining! Yet, I also feel pity for the character because he's a wanderer without a home by the sound of it, especially from the line where he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in awhile.

[barleygirl]

Since I'm a sucker for the guitar player in any band, I can really relate to this. They are addicted to the adoration & applause, but then it's quite lonely during the in-between times. You've captured this in an original-sounding word portrait.

[Nature]

Wonderful. More of a satire on the modern life style. This poem is rich in simplicity.

[??????]

That sounds like a lot of musicians have lived the life of a song. I really enjoyed this:)

[GreenShoes]

Ah! I love this! It made me smile. :))) Yeah! He's the guitar player! :)) Awesome, Sonia!

[Sonia Walker]

It would be nice to receive feedback on my poem.