Pardon me stranger,
Could I have a moment of your time?
Are you available to give to me,
A smidge of your mind?

I can see the ashes in your eye,
Grey and flaking out as you blink,
Falling like gentle snow,
Small puffs as they hit the ground,
Leaving a gentle trail in your wake.

The gentle sounds of a crackling fire following you,
Each and every step,
Much akin to the crinkling of a pop can,
A bittersweet reminder of the things you've had to take.

The scent that wafts from you,
The smell of charred oak,
That oh-so unique sensation,
Of destruction, or something that was used to create?

That warmth that seems to emanate from your very soul.
Seeping into everyone that you pass,
The dying gasps of a forest fire?
Or of a carefully tended campfire,
To fend off a winter's cold embrace?

So if you can,
Kind stranger,
A piece is all I ask,
So that I may see,
So that I may partake.

Give me a minute,
And I will make it worth an hour,
An hour,
I will make it worth a year,
A year,
Well....
Let's take that minute and you will see.

Rapid fire like a Lewis Gun,
Rattle and shake like a can of spray paint,
So nervous you can clearly see,
A golden chance I don't want to squander,
A chance that won't repeat.

Fit to burst with ideas and dreams,
Too many for me to speak,
One HAS to stick,
Just HAS TO,
I CAN'T FAIL TO SPEAK.

Fifteen seconds to go,
Where did the time fly?
Please don't see me as mud beneath your feet,
Give me this chance and you will see,
That this is an easily fulfilled dream.

DING

You get out,
Something I'm sure that you're glad to hear and see,
But as you get out you ask for my number,
And that maybe we'll speak

Clocking in,
Trudging on,
Grinding the nose down to the bone,
Clock out,
Et cetera,
Ad Nauseam,
Goes the routine of the last of the Blue-Collar poets.

Can't think of words,
Too dog-tired to think of rhyming schemes,
Too sore for clever entendres,
Too broke to focus on fixing verses, stanzas, and metrics.

Thinking of the too-long day,
And the too-long day to come,
Fighting for a long shot of a good-night's sleep,
For a glimmer of a decent day off,
Clawing for a decent day's pay.

Sweeping up the metal shavings,
Spattered with hot, hot grease,
Bones broken by falling boxes,
Maimed by unsafe machines.

Keep the Blue-Collar poet in mind,
As you operate your computers,
Sitting in your White-Collar dream,
For their fledging numbers dwindle,
That will never get the chance at your dream

Tell me my love,
What is it you need me to be?

Am I to be a shining knight?
Slay the dragon,
Climb the tower,
Defeat the evil king with my might?

Do you need the gentle giant,
A gorilla in the mist,
Some juxtaposition of size and timidity,
A stalwart wall of muscle that is oh-so reliant?

Shall I be an old-time Cowboy,
The Marlboro Man made flesh,
With those predator/prey eyes that scan the horizon,
Shaded from the sun with a hat made of corduroy.

Or maybe I should just stay me,
The man that is always there for you,
The joking friend that is your favorite person,
The one that makes you feel oh so free.

Dance on the edge,
Between great success and ruin,
Flip the coin and see which way it lands.

Curry favor with the despot king,
A loaded ace to keep in your sleeve,
And smile a wicked grin.

Do you see the Saint Elmo's fire?
Gathering on the masts of the ships of our lives?
The potential energy for greatness at the very tops?

Tear on down the street,
Tear on down the lane,
Tear on down to the great avenue that is this human experience of ours.

Carry through the light of the pines,
Where the fog drifts gently,
Where the birds pleasantly sing.
Where the strangers are kind,
Dress strangely,
So different from these car-choked streets,
And nobody knows anybody else's names,
Where the waitresses don't know your usual,
And the coffee tastes like burnt beans.

Where the Friday night football is a family event,
Even if the rugrats aren't in high school yet,
Where the number of trucks outnumber the cars,
And the rust spots adorn the bodies like badges on a decorated soldier,
And the mud is still spattered on the sides.

You share with me your memories,
Of places I've never been,
Sharing experiences I've never had,
With people I'll never meet.

I am so grateful that you share them,
They put a pep in my step,
Make me tap my foot,
And make me turn inward,
To the man I wish to be.

Carry me away on gentle guitar pluckin,
And take me to your world,
To where I wouldn't have to be me,
To where I can be the man I wish to be.