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This week's Zelda's Inferno exercise: a list poem, around the theme of music

my father's old guitar, sitting in the corner of my office
my grandparents' piano in the living room, that I don't really know how to play
a bamboo flute, a thumb piano -- both gifts
my Ovation guitar, veteran of numerous camping trips and a voyage to Japan, the
    guitar I played in an art center in Kyoto and a
    basement bar in Osaka
old cassette tapes, sliding toward dead media
an old tarnished guitar string coiled up in the bottom of a desk drawer
a folder of song lyrics and chords, songs I've covered, another thin folder with
    those I've written
a bag of mics and cables and music gear, the truth of the expensive hobby

and memories:
guitar as a security blanket at parties, something to hide behind
concerts -- Peter Paul and Mary with my parents, the Dead (and all a show
    entails) with friends
a violinist who used to play the open mics, slightly crazy goth chick,
    taking her for a ride late one summer night
my uncle playing and singing at the family gatherings
playing on 9/11, and the day after -- and at a party the weekend
    before, the change in what it all meant in just a few days
walking through a subway station in Boston on a warm September Sunday
    afternoon, and a man with an electric guitar was
    playing the music that was in my head