Poem for my Dad

It's my dad's birthday!  Here's a poem that I wouldn't have written had he not be in my life! It was my attempt to write about why I love music so much.  Turned into a poem about how I grew up. 

-->

Celtic Punk

My lullabies were sung from steel strings,

as I was rocked asleep by a pulsating Fender amp.

Bar booths were as comfortable to sleep on

as a soft bed, or the grass

during a Steppenwolf concert—I was five.

Musicians’ guitar stringed melodies

played from the living room,

from the basement into my

second-story bedroom.  These were

the sounds that led me to sleep.

In a house full of musicians,

loud noises comforted me.

In my car, stuck in traffic

loud music:  guitars, drums,

bass, and bagpipes calm my energy.

New musicians lull me to sleep now

in my one bedroom apartment.

Pulsating speakers still help me sleep,

but they are pumping out Dropkick Murphys,

not my daddy on his rusty-orange Fender.