We Are the Ones We've Been Waiting For
Mill rat, hard hat
I used to pour steel down by the river
Working double shifts, having family rifts
Burnt skin
Meant the rent would be paid
I was standing in a ring of fire
When my fifteen minutes of fame came to call
I wrote a book on sports
Controversial
But not enough to end up in the courts
I had to work it
When I wasn’t working
Every time I got a day off
I was on a plane
Like James Brown’s “Night Train”
Atlanta, Birmingham, Philly and DC
LA, Kansas City, Chicago, Houston too
What’s an Ohio boy to do?
Do interviews
Be on the news
Get up early for TV shows
Stay up late for guest DJ flows
I even wrote two guest pieces
For the New York Times
All the news that’s fit to print
Now included me
Yes, the welcome mat was out
But at an angle
The editor there said
Right to my face
“I had no idea a steelworker could write so well”
He asked me where I went to college
Where did I get my knowledge?
When I said I didn’t finish high school
That I had no cherished “my school”
He thought I was lying
He suddenly stopped trying
To connect with me
Back in the mill
It was another story
A tap on the shoulder
“Someone’s here to see you”
Over from the furnace
Down from the crane
Working the rails
Now in from the rain
They came up to my platform
Awkward
Uncomfortable
“You’re the guy I saw on TV
I thought you might understand”
They put a poem or a tape or a drawing
In my burned, calloused hand
Come out, come out wherever you are
We were made for life’s journey
We were born to go far
My friend Cristina
Was filled with music inside
Four kids, two jobs
She never got to take it for a ride
So it fell a generation
And landed with a thud
Her son Hector
Was the living, breathing incarnation
Of Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode
Hector could play a guitar like ringing a bell
Had perfect time
A knack for rhyme
His songs could beautify hell
But….
His pants were so low
His bald head so mean
He got a gang jacket
At the age of fourteen
Kept doing time
Nowhere to be seen
So Hector’s gift was tested
From below and above
Bands fell apart, he put ‘em back together
To play the songs that he loved
One night in the IE
He had a party for his new CD
I danced with Cristina
So I could hold her
While I told her:
“When Hector starts to play
I love to watch you sway
In front of your creation”
Come out, come out wherever you are
We were made for life’s journey
We were born to go far
I was in an airport
Waiting out delay
The lady sitting next to me
Looked so familiar
But I just couldn’t place her
Then…
There she was
On the front page of the paper on my lap
An Enron executive who’d lost it all
“I feel like a victim”
The article said
“A victim of economic terrorism!”
That’s what I read
I lost my pension
Not to mention
“I almost lost my mind”
I tapped her on the shoulder
The words they just rushed out
“I always thought that everyone on an upper floor
Was just a whore”
Her head snapped back
Her anger flashed
She turned my other cheek and slapped it with her voice
“Just a whore?”
Then a sigh, volume down
“Just a whore?”
“Not any more.”
She turned away
But I couldn’t miss what she’d been doing
With sketch pad and colored pencils
Deep, dark, and dripping
Bent low but spirit strong
Come out, come out wherever you are
We were made for life’s journey
We were born to go far
So many of us just accept our place
We listen to the voices who say that just a few
Are worthy of a critic’s taste
Who are these gatekeepers
Who claim we got nothing to say?
These grant givers
High livers
Why do we seek their approval?
Instead we should seek their removal
Because our dreams can’t come true
Tucked away in unread pages
Or nestled in the notes
Of silent, stillborn rages
We are the ones we’ve been waiting for
The next voice you hear will be your own
Poem / 2006