Humbucker Pickup

It had a humbucker pickup that twinkled in the lights
of the run-down store in the building on the street
next to mine, and I'd ride there on my bike just to look
and imagine my fingers on its strings,
or a pick, its angle of attack precise,
slashing cleanly through the air
to make my sound.

It had a humbucker pickup that twinkled in the lights
on the stage in the gym where a friend-of-a-friend had
gotten us a chance, just a chance, to show that we could
make such a sound that applause
would erupt from the stunned crowd,
or at least that they
wouldn't laugh.

It had a humbucker pickup that twinkled in the lights
of my basement on the nights I'd pick it up to tune
and caress and think of days gone by. Such a weird
aesthetic this music represented,
nostalgia and defiance combining
into a chord ringing out
into silence.

It had a humbucker pickup (it twinkled in the lights
of the store up the block from the apartment building)
but I didn't want to think of days gone by just then.
I knew some boy or some girl was
thinking of a humbucker pickup
that was twinkling
in the lights.