What I need to hear

What I need to hear while
under this refreshing shower
is the melody for that song
people will remember years later -

how that song defined an
event or season in their lives.

That melody is locked up
in between my ears,
somewhere.

(This shower reanimates my thoughts. Splish, splosh.)

Late at night, rent paid for
after cold-calling residences for surveys,
I smoke weed and drink beer
to loosen the brain tissue,
then scrawl lines or feel guitar chords
to record whatever escapes.

Songcraft requires persistence and patience,
a reassurance the band
only sees as nonsense finally
tossed into the musical trash.

(Soon the shower's coda glides down my skin. Drip, drop, dop. Da dee-dee du dummm...)

Flushed, I exit the bathroom,
pass the TV commune
to where my guitar waits by the futon.
I reach for it,
buzzing with a tune.