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Thursday, May 6, 2010

Art and Poetry by Kyle De Wolf

The Ukulele
I play a ukulele with plastic strings.
I sit on the bleachers and sing bass.
Nobody likes my voice but Jesus.

It’s a hot day. Sweat runs down my brow.
I learn a tune about shortenin’ bread.
(What is that? Is it any good?)
I always liked banana bread the best.
I haven’t had banana bread in years.
Someday I’ll try some shortenin’ bread,
Just to see if mama’s little baby had any sense.
(Does it go good with strawberry jam?)

People come by and ask me questions.
“What kind of instrument is that?”
“It’s a violin,” I say “A xylophone,” I tell another.
“Come on, tell us what it is?”
“A uke.” “Ukes make me puke.””Get on then!”
“Where does it come from?” “No.” “Then why do you play it?”
“Why does a dog lick it’s nuts?”

I try my best to sing, sing, sing,
Like a bullfrog croaking on a lily pad.
Some people say that bullfrogs sound better.
But I’ve never seen a bullfrog pluck like me.
I can pick all the notes in the scale of C.

“When the war’s over, I’ll go home to Ma,
Give her a big hug and shake hands with Pa.
I’ll find a dear lady in town for to wed,
Take her to my house and toss her in bed.”

Just picture the eyes glistening,
Bodies swaying back and forth in the dim light,
Cell phones waving in the air.
Isn’t it beautiful?

I play a ukulele with plastic strings.
I sit on the bleachers and sing bass.
Jesus said maybe I should ham softly.












































Kyle De Wolf

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