I performed this poem for the independent podcast Pilot Waves, for their series “poems about work”.
Hey hey hey
Hold it hold it hold it
Hear me hear me just this once
Before we part ways for the millionth time:
What lessons can career ladders possibly teach your body
as you go through impossible motions,
pushing your case
in case of a promotion?
It’s OK to fear to fail—
You’re human for God’s sake!
come rock & roll with me—
I’ve seen more than you think.
A technicolor TV in Rock Hill that once told me a tale:
Dorothy awoke on the bus / (now the only gringa) / To a man shouting on his iPhone: / “Bueno? / “No. / “Hamburguesas. / “Okei. / “Perfecto. / “Bye.” / A Coca-Cola hiss, / a Dorito crunch, / a wipe across his Levis, / he put his Oakleys back on. / “Wow,” thought Dorothy, / “Kansas is bigger than I thought.”
A home where “house” means more than sleep:
The place you learn to walk while pouring tea / learn to live with see-through graffiti / holidays are for coming home / instead of for leaving, giving thanks / for labored memories, crawling under the table / where vets and Kings sing songs in a tent for the open road, / before mom & dad start yelling at / your unmade bed, your unread books, / your fallen teddy bears, and you— / Because the renters are arriving?
The meaning of rarity:
Shooting stars / Snow in sunlight / Doppelgangers / Dogs with socks / I once had a list of things / For rainy days, toasts, and pick up lines / Things I once thought were rare… / Until a Google cloud rushed in / And rained all over me / So I became a collector of rarities: / The purple tips of June thunderbolts, / Reservoirs of big boys’ tears, / Thank-God-it’s-Mondays, all sorts of Sundays: / some busy, some cold, some / with plastic presents on the bottom. / I collect unhurried breaths, they stay inside, / inflating me with some kind of wisdom. / Man, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you pinch my cheeks, and hear / The most annoying sound in the world. / But would you believe it, I ran out / Of space, even on the lawn, even / United Methodist wouldn’t accept / The donation. So to stay one search ahead / Of Google, I now just mash them toget / herso there’s no chance at all: / Snow on stars, unreach / able, Shooting socks, imp / ossible, Double sunlight, hiddenatt / hebottomofasunday, Doggone dangers, note / ventheoldestnewestcoverbandname.
What’s worth seeing at end of the day:
When everyone’s decided to call it that, / Chalk it up to another, just like the others, / Having sidestepped the country taboos and ticklish spots / And decide there’s nothing else / But the copout of weird dreams. / That’s when wonder rears its tiny head / And comes with an old drum out of the shed / The puckerbutts and titllations and fothermuckers dance / While jetsetters commonplacers seen-it-allers sleep.
To my rock-n-roll superstargazer, martyr, pencil-pusher:
IT is not a mountain to climb / IT is a mountain to descend, / and not by winding trails, either, / by cliffs and leaps of faith. / Those who stay can only marvel at the blue-eyed beauty of IT, / those who jump find out in time how deep the valley really IS.
From the bottom of a heart
a million joyous pebbles
Once again we rest our case:
Yours.
