Poem ‘Guitar’ by Alan Wherry

Guitar I posed with my new guitar,
a birthday present from my Dad
Made in the shipyard joiner's shop
The neck, balustrade and buttress
Unplayable above the fourth fret

Fretted where he thought they looked nice
Love oozed from its every grain and pore
Only cowboy chords played nicely
The limits of my skill.

Me and Bertie Richie
Were photographed with an LP of Elvis
Me with my guitar
He with my Dad's banjo ukulele,
Handier for George Formby
Than Link Wray or Scottie Moore.

We had more than one thing in common
No sense of what was possible
Had we kept at it.

Teenage dreams are fervent, zealous
They overpower the reality of hard work and practice.