The Strums

A family moved in next door,
unusual they are.
Every single one of them
is shaped like a guitar.

I saw them just the other day,
(exotic often comes).
I welcomed them, learned their names:
they call themselves the Strums.

The father is Acoustic,
proportioned with veneer.
He picked with verve upon the fret,
his aptitude quite clear.

He introduced me to his wife,
she strummed herself and some.
She had a very sexy shape--
her name Fine Fender Strum.

Their daughter entered with a riff
that caught me by surprise.
Electric Strum regarded me
with modulating eyes.

Gibson then walked up to me,
(he was the older boy),
and twanged in plaintive monotone
as if bereft of joy.

Finally when I saw Bass,
(he was a little tyke),
he played a strain of new wave rock
while riding on his bike.

So there they were, Acoustic Strum,
Fine Fender, Gibson too.
Electric joined along with Bass
in guitar rendezvous.

32 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
February 8, 2014