Here is a little thing I wrote and a bit off my morning coffee mixed with some ink to make a lovely little ukulele image to go with my words.
I wrote a song on Sunday for the ukulele I play no more.
I wrote it sitting at my piano and felt myself a whore.
I played it in the concert hall on my guitar so they would weep.
The ukulele behind the curtain in another’s hands looked cheap.
I went home with a check in hand for my grand performance.
My successful night didn’t make me smile, instead I felt abhorrence.
I laid my guitar against the wall and sat down to tap at ivory keys.
I played my tune once again and felt I was a sleaze.
I wished for my simple ukulele that I’d once long ago left behind,
my instrument I’d loved and learned on that was always on my mind.
© Copyright 2016 Aarron Laidig