She goes to her room,
closes the door,
drops onto her bed.
Gazing at the posters on her walls
—The Smiths, The Cure, Siouxsie and the
Banshees—
she toys with the idea of buying a guitar.
Learn a few chords,
join a band,
record a demo.
Maybe even play some clubs in the city.
She envisions herself
onstage at CBGB,
strumming a black Strat.
She wails into the microphone
while her boyfriend stands transfixed
beside a Marshall stack.
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