I surfed the internet.

Checked Real Deal Pawn.

Then some guy at Never Fret

gave me a deal on

a Fender Stratocaster.

1963

With alabaster frets

and new fangled gadgetry.

It modulated frequency,

it even shifted phasing.

Had digitized memory

with synchopatic phrasing.

Platinum input jacks

and pickups made it wail.

It even did my income tax

and took my voice mail.

Of all the host of things

on that Fender guitar,

the one I liked the most

was that little whammy bar.

It growled like a jungle cat.

It shrilled like a sparrow.

It howled.

Man, that Fender Strat chilled me to the marrow.

Of course I’d need an amp

to sound like Floyd or Tull,

but not some whimpy Fender Champ,

but a great big bad ass Marshall.

I took that sucker home.

How proudly I display it.

Makes everybody foam.

Someday I’ll learn to play it.