defang

i was a worker

of that you could be

proud

and not wonder

like those ladies whose

husbands drive

in different states

sitting all day behind a wheel

with mythologizing songwriters

raising their cache. i was unfortunate

amongst the ethic gatherers who

bled from the fingers and the brow.

i could've befriended someone like whitman

who would love the salty taste of my skin

but would write instead about something

that would take the suspicion away

and raise his own cache amongst those

craving the methodical evocation

of working stiffs and their dirty-skirted

mothers wiping up the filth of the working

class poor.

(c)jim hill (4-6-2012)