Reunion

        [Tune: "Don't Let Your Deal Go Down"]

Long years ago, a younger man, I got my first guitar --
A cheapo-cheapo, cost me 15 bucks.
It was hard to play, and sounded like a tin can strung with wire;
It made me want to better my poor luck.
Now Martins, so I'd heard, were among the very best,
But they cost an arm and even half a leg.
But I kept looking on till I finally found one, used,
At a price I didn't have to steal or beg.

The model that I found was a big D-28
Made in 1963, the numbers told.
The top was just as snowy as it was when it was new --
You'd never think that it was five years old.
The trouble is, it also sounded new and kind of stiff;
It didn't have that sound I'd hoped to find.
So when I got a better-sounding, smaller Martin box,
I sold that Dreadnought to a friend of mine.

Now, this was 1969, a score-odd years ago,
When hippie-dom held sway among the young.
This friend went to New York, and left his car to go get stoned,
And got ripped off by some damned passing bum.
So that guitar was gone, from his life and from mine,
And I hadn't thought of that old thing for years.
Though I'd owned some nice guitars, I still hadn't found the one
That felt right to my fingers and my ears.

It's 1989, at a festival with friends,
When I see this odd-appearing Martin there.
A '28 from '63, but looking at the top,
You could see that something wasn't on the square.
The musician who was selling it told a tale of woe,
Of a smashed-in top and a luthier of skill.
But then when I played it, it spoke to me, deep down,
And you could say it's talking to me still.

So now I have the Martin of my dreams, or pretty close,
And I play it every time that there's a chance.
The lifelong search I'd made for that particular guitar
Had had me leading such a merry dance.
But the thing is, once I'd bought it, I finally took a look
At the maker's number stamped inside, and lo!
That "196578" rang my memory's bell --
It's the same guitar I sold off years ago!


© 1992, Bob Clayton, Silver Spring, MD


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And it's the truth! .... I think.

Bob Clayton