I had a Guild D40
it was my first real guitar
I was 13 when the salesman
pulled it off the wall
and the sound and feel and smell of her
I knew she was the one
it was the start of a threesome
me and her and Neil Young

she was the stronghold of my sanity
my familiar in the dark
the creator of my calluses
and I wore her finish off
often lonesome and despondent
a walking broken heart
that guitar took all my pounding
transmuting pain to art

but her smell was like a potion
when I’d open up the case
the spruce and the mahogany
like incense for my faith
I’d take her out and hold her
breathe her essence in
and be back in that guitar store
where our affair began

but we were star-crossed lovers
we’d argue and we’d fight
I sent her back to Guild four times
her neck was never right
I started seeing other instruments
I guess I’m a fickle man
and when her bridge began to pull
I sent her back again

but that smell was the connection
when I’d open up the case
the spruce and the mahogany
remembrance of that place
I’d do the Marcel Proust thing
catch a whiff and step into
that second-floor guitar store in 1972

a big box arrived on my front porch
I hauled it on inside
my resurrected mail order
problem child bride
I hoped that they’d fixed her
and we’d renew our routine
the love affair I’d had with her
since I was thirteen

but when I opened up the case I found
when they’d replaced the bridge
they put a shiny coat of lacquer
on the old finish that I’d ridged
she was a stranger with a facelift
and an unfamiliar smell
and it shattered the connection
I used to love so well

I tried to play her but she was just gone
I didn’t know what to do
she sat alone and untouched for many years
but it was just gone
so I let her go

I sold her to a woman
though it nearly broke my heart
a gift for her fiancé
though they later split apart
I home someone appreciates
the warm tone and the wood
I hope somebody loves her
because I no longer could

so now I play other instruments
that aren’t so battle-scared
they’re responsive and expensive
I don’t pound them quite as hard
their intonation’s flawless
if they lack a certain Zen
we have intimate sessions
but they did not know me when

oh god I miss the smell of her
when I open up a case
I guess that cedar and rosewood
just don’t transmute time and space
I’d track her down and find her
but I still can’t get back to
that guitar store in Northampton in 1972

I had a Guild D40
and I wonder where you are