Poem: Richard plays Layla

A poem about a guy, a guitar, a friendship, and memories...

He could play the riff from Layla.
Not bad, but that was all – acoustic
guitar. And he played it small,

no searing slide of course. He’d loop
the riff a dozen times then smirk.
And rest. Strange feeling of completion.

I tried to join in on a set of bongos.
It’s the closest we ever got. Some
actual connection - away from

the madness. We were 13 years old
and was just us against the rest;
in a world of our own.