Because I like poetry...

Sunday, August 21, 2011
Dyslexic Wonderboy teaches himself to play
WATCHING MY SON
Pick lost,
strummin' with a dime.
Long fingers
gentle on the neck,
pressing frets, reaching straight.
Large, pudding eyes
look
Body leans
listens, feels the chords.
Black hair and two black brows
rarely knitted in consternation.
Ease, no smile
Just the pursed
lips of concentration
a song released
into the air.


--Jane Everham

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