good guitar

he is much older than he looks.
commendable posture and
tailored nose hairs.
the only hint of senior citizenship
is the
gathering of sun-stained skin between
his chin and the collar of a
black tee shirt.

...

he squints and his lips
dance
almost imperceptibly
to the six strings.
he hears just half of
what he plays.
the right ear has retired,
the left is
on his way.

...

both ground and sky are
pink. not quite flower pink,
but a softer, fleshier,
mayonnaise pink. it has
snowed since dawn and is now
after dusk.
no one seems to have left
their house.
the snow, untouched on the road:

perfection.

even the
birdsandsquirrelsandracoonsanddogs
stayed in.
we'd all hate to be the one to disturb
the sleeping
white baby.

...

the guitar, too,
now sleeps. dreaming in jazz of
blue
grass.

...

he reads on the loveseat.
paperback rocking with the rythm of
his dozing. he snores
with his mouth open and
dreams of hearing
both halves.