..... poetry .....



"Wailin' On The Blues"

The trees split the light as I drove down my country road, 
   while birds competed for choice food 
   and spots to rendezvous.
Even my tires seemed to be singing a song of  
   green-aired naiveté.   

Up the road, I spotted a tall blonde man 
   playin' the blues on his favorite guitar
   of maple and spruce.
Bending notes to thank those trees,   
   singin' praises on his knees,
   and rearing back to appease
   the gods.

On my approach, I carefully slowed down,
   so as to not upset his reverie.
And when I arrived, instead of a man
wailin’ on the blues—
   there was only a man 
   playin’ his gleeful dog.
Praisin’ his Canine God. 


August 2016



©2016, Michael Smolens