His Guitar Menagerie

He picked her up

He ran his sinewy hands on her curvy body

He touched all of her contours deliberately

Every finger he placed on her neck was calculated

Her long neck he studied inch by inch

His rough hands traveled further south

Until he reached her opening

He had been looking for a certain sound

He’d been at this search of his for quite some time now

He knew the price of a good instrument

Searched high and low for The One

A trained musician was he

Willing to pay top dollar for her

And one day he found me….


He saw me and knew what he’d found

He ran his  rough hands on my curvy body

He touched all of my contours deliberately

Every finger he placed on my neck was calculated

My long neck he studied inch by inch

His hands traveled further south

Until he reached my opening

I was that sound he’d been looking for

And since he claimed to be an expert musician,I let him in

Only to find out soon enough, I’d be treated like he treated his prized guitars


I thought with me he’d be different

I was after all, his highest commodity

His most valued of all his possessions

I could not have been more wrong

For you see, he was deaf all along

And he’d never planned on hearing my song


From day one he’d said

“My guitar is my other woman.”

I should have known with him

I’d be good as dead

With him I’d grow old

And become one of his old unsung hymns

But I thought I’d give him a try

C’mon someone had to break and get in right?

It damn near cost me my sanity

It damn near cost me my life

It damn near cost me my sight

He treated me like one of his fucking guitars


Year in and year out

On my heart

He placed a dark mark

Pretty soon he put me in a corner

Right next to his cherry red Strat

Right next to his rosewood Gibson

Below was his onyx colored Fender

Above me, the queen of us all: His 12 string

We all were there collecting dust

Over the years he’d grow dissatisfied and he’d trade one of us in

To him this trade-off was no big thing


Living with an insane guitarist

I became the outsider

Looking in on his guitar museum

Like a lone drifter, like a wandering tourist

And that’s how it came to be

He treated me like one of his fucking guitars

All of his moves although as smooth as can be

Were lacking of passion: Cold,rehearsed and calculated

And day by day

I felt as if I was going insane

And night by night

I gave up and I never again sang


Until the day came

When I found my dignity

And I decided to vacate the premises

Of his mad guitar museum

I said good-bye to his Strat

I told her to stop being a spoiled brat

I kissed Gibson on the cheek

And told her to stop being so weak

He’s been done with you-last time he touched you was more than a week

Then I saluted the queen-the 12 string

And she looked at me

With a little envy

She knew like all the rest

I was leaving for good


He soon found out I was done

And he was suddenly alarmed

Even asked me with his voice trembling,

” Why do you seek to bring me harm?”

I told him, ” I’m not yours. I never was. I can never compete with your other woman

That’s right, stay with your precious guitars

I am not made of wood

I am not made of metal

You never planned to make me your number one

You never cared. You never could

I refuse to be part of your guitar menagerie

You’ve brought me great misery

I have been in great agony

Why I stayed for so long

Is truly a grave mystery

It has even killed my song

I have to go find it again

Take care. So Long!


And I walked out the front door

And suddenly I heard a crashing noise

Behind me there, on the red tile floor

He’d smashed his queen-the 12 string

She lay there in bits

By then it was too late

I was out of there…I had found my wings

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

guitar menagerie



Do Your Kids Socalize?

 Hello Again!

Since I have been home schooling for a while now, I recall one of the first questions people ask me is how do my kids socialize. Are they hermits who never get to see another human face other than mine and  our family members? Do my kids have friends? We all have grown accustomed to these bizarre questions; but now I think we need to take a closer look at what to be social actually means.
Social-SO”CIAL,a. [L. socialis, from socius, companion.] 2. Ready or disposed to mix in friendly converse; companionable.
So you see if you are asking me whether my home taught kids can actually relate to other people my answer would be of course they can! My kids attend weekly dance lessons where they meet other children; my son takes guitar lessons as well. We also attend church on a regular basis and they have made friends there as well. The neighborhood we live in has plenty of children too and usually my home is full of kids because they all come over to our house after they get out of school.
One very interesting aspect of most of the home schooled children I’ve met is that they relate well with people of all age groups; this is quite unlike their public school counter parts who behave shyly or completely disregard adults.My husband and I have a theory that what happens to children when they go to school transfers to their world outside the classroom. Public school kids are all separated by age, therefore they learn to relate to just their peers for 8 hours of their day. Real life is not that way though; in reality we all run across all kinds of people from all age groups and I believe home schooling prepares kids to be well rounded individual because they are in constant contact with people of different age groups.
I’ll leave you with this quote:” The first quality of a good education is good manners-and some people flunk the course.  Hubert Humphrey