In The Garage

I miss the garages
and the basements.

I miss the guitars
and the basses.

I miss carrying
a fifteen-inch
speaker cabinet
down creaking stairs,
my skinny
teenage arms
trembling.

I miss
the smell
of dust
and sweat
and pot smoke.

I miss
the girlfriends
who would come
to watch,
and sit on
stained couches,
chewing gum
and looking bored.

I miss the
bass drum
kick to the chest,

the hour-long
guitar solos,

the
three-chord,
two-chord,
no-chord
masterpieces
we wrote
and forgot
by the next
morning.

I miss
the calluses
on my fingers
and the
ringing
in my ears.

I miss
every
single
wasted
Saturday
afternoon.