My lunchtime companion
is an old black man
and his smoldering guitar.
If he were here in person,
I’m sure he’d wonder
what we have in common
(and how he ended up
in a suburban living room),
but as I pick my way through
composing some mediocre stanzas while
eating a “what’s left in the fridge” salad,
I think he’d learn
that we are each trying
to make sense of our worlds
through the act of creating,
and as his music celebrates,
cautions and berates,
I can only say, “yes sir, me too.”
Laura Winkelspecht is a poet and writer from Wisconsin who writes with the hope of finding lightning among the lightning bugs. She has been published in Anti-Heroin Chic, One Sentence Poems, Rat’s Ass Review, Poets Reading the News, and others. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee.
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