My first song was “Closing Time,”

Sweaty hands on borrowed strings.

Many more messily followed,

And my calloused fingertips fit them

Eventually. Two days became two weeks,

But two weeks still showed.

With a capo strung together from pencils,

I strung together chords, awkward but

With intent strung into every stroke.

Now two weeks are two months,

And to some I even sound good,

And my last song was my own.