Bass guitar

• Miles Ridyard, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2006

You sit there smugly looking at me
Your black coat shimmering under the table lamp
I resist the erg
Your silver strings hum as I step away
I turn back and stare
Your humming stops
The temptation to play grows
I can’t resist

I run my hand along you neck
And lift you up
Your strap fits nicely on my shoulders
You are heavy
I press my left fingers on the frets
My right thumb on the pickup
Your sound goes straight through me
You are my pride and joy