In Sunday evening repose,
having resisted child brutality,
the ‘laylee’ catches its breath.
Its used brother lies panting in its case
battered and bruised
filled to bursting with the weekend’s fun.
Chattered Finn-fingerprints cake its body,
its neck has seen pain,
and the twisting of its pegs
dischords its smile.
The smile echoes
the smile on the face
which tendered the brutality
and got such joy
from the fret-frenetic pounding of strings.
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