the guitarist
cut class to
stand in front of an
empty auditorium where
no spotlight hit him and
no audience applauded him.
he stands and
whispers
“someday” but he knows
someday will never come

a kid from
Texas who scuffed his
jean jacket on the brick wall of the
pawn store that promised a guitar for
everyone, but not the
kid whose dad walked out and
left his family to
starve

a kid who dreamed of the day when
his car’s seats would be
naugahyde and the
Chuck Berry cracking through the AM would be
crystal clear

the day when the auditorium
wouldn’t be empty

so the kid
leaves Texas, taking his
guitar and forgetting his
past

California promised
fame, and he made his way to
international stardom
he stood in front of
sold out stadiums but he
still whispered
“someday”

because the fame
wasn’t his

his music was as
controlled as his image,
bent to fit the
perfect pop sensation,
but it wasn’t him

so he sheds his fame
and puts on his
scuffed jean jacket,
making the music
he wants to make, but
the audience is
no longer there

he looks
up and whispers

"someday never comes"