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

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

Read this poem on Apple News.

About the Author


Paul Smith

Skokie, Illinois

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.