In The Pocket - a Poem by Paul Smith

This one goes out to all the bass players. - photo credit: Nick Bolton

In The Pocket - a Poem by Paul Smith

While your guitar gently weeps

mine walks from rung to rung

on the nether clef

filling a space

between the drums and

whatever else there is

if it’s done right

it’s almost not there

conscience does

the same thing

minor thirds

fourths half diminished

we don’t flat our fifths

we drink them

my bass has never lied

never tried to fool me

just plays back what I tell it to

and if I try any funny stuff

she warns me with a fuzzy sound

that makes my fingers burn

so that you and that guitar of yours

can walk in my footprints

Vote for this poem by clicking the applause button below. This piece is featured on the CHILLFILTR Review, and top-voted pieces will be included in the yearly best-of collection.

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Paul Smith

Paul Smith is a civil engineer who has worked in the construction racket for many years. His poetry & fiction have been published in Convergence, Homestead Review, Literary Orphans and other lit mags.

Skokie, Illinois

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