Greg Ginn’s Guitar by Steven Storrie

They sit at the bar all day
In the same order they did at school
Getting fatter
Closer to death
I wonder what they talk about
Having known each other all these years
Their glory days

We slam around the junkyards of California
Holding the sun
Looks like we had the last laugh

My memory coagulates
Feeds out the back of a ’49 Ford
Who said what to who
Doesn’t matter anymore
Comb the hair of your ugly baby
You sacrosanct piece of shit
Even the old waitress said with pity
You couldn’t get it up in a million years

I hear the sound of buzz saws
Rotor blades
They are righteous
They are telling me something
Whispering it on a soft, cool breeze

They are telling me it’s all over
They are telling me I won.

Steven Storrie 3
Steven Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher, choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this he is currently locked in his basement working on his first full collection of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. His first collection of short stories, We Are Not The Kids We Used To Be, will be released in November by DevilHouse Press. You can find him at the website he runs, ‘Black Coffee For Breakfast’, at

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