Fender bass

the ice was dull
my blades were sharp
the water underneath a bottle of Perrier
the classical woman on her Viennese harp
the thin man on his Fender bass
bringing another case
for poor Sonny
who died when his head hit a tree
like an arrow splitting a knee
it was in the dead of winter
in the American west
but we go on with our lives
imagining they're the best
they could become a dime store novel or a penny
a farthing or a pound
a fatal fall from every grace
or a trampoline rebound
when time runs down
and the entrance runs on and on
day after day
what more are you willing to say?