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My Standup Bass

My Standup Bass

Don't know for certain
When the woodworker
Got out his tools and set to work,
Carefully his craftsman's hands
Shaped the maple, spruce and ebony.
No ticket to travel the world,
Freight costs paid by Blues and Jazz,
Tossed around over the years,
Your place among the artists and dabblers
Never mattered to most folks except to me.
My hands now set your voice free,
To sing and honor your past.
-----------------
Boogie Woogie and Swing beat slapped out,
Rings and watchbands took a toll,
The uniformed kids didn't care
They were overseas and lonesome,
All welcomed a sound of home,
That canvas bag was no help
It only hid the dings and scrapes,
Poor repairs by untrained hands
Better left undone.
An uncertain history,
Unknown to many,
Though cherished and remembered by me.
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
A beatup standup bass is returned to life
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4/10/2021 11:50:10 PM # 1.0.0.559