phil walks into the bookshop,
picks up a mag from a shelf.
I tell a work colleague near me:
that guy is a hell guitarist!
he looks at phil
phils head is thin and withered-looking!
his hands look tired and weak!
his back is shaped like a banana
time appears not to have treated him that well.
my work colleague looks at me like Im a fucking nut.
i tell my work colleague
to place a guitar between phils hands
and give him some space...
his head will snap upright!
his hands will attend to the strings like they would a lovers
and he will sing the blues
in a style
and in a way
that only rare, gifted bastards do!