'There's a feeling in the air, that I can't get anywhere except Milwaukee~
On the shores of Michigan~
I can watch you grow again
even touch the sky'
O Happy Days!
Buckle the babies and help the old ladies, 'cause every one goes
DNC National Convention well on its way! That'll be me carrying Rachel Maddow's Drift
down the street from The Basilica of St. Josaphat around the corner, Kinnikinnick & Lincoln Ave
wearing an aqua shirt (1947 canvass Jeepers high tops) Polo Khakis, this Milwaukee Braves silk
jacket with the Native American Chief, (aqua head scarf (s/b red yo? color that my baby wore) into
the music man joint bell ringing at last buying a steel guitar
I won't quit until I'm a star
I find Venus most mornings. After push ups.
Sun is shinning. Deep diaphragm breaths out screen doors melting snow rooftop, smiles
returning to the faces.
And I cried a little bit opening my father's lunch pail.
You know that black Quonset-shaped bucket with all
the crayolas and old-fashioned love song notes, that postcard from the Painted Desert
His welder's hat
And I thought of my grandparents...alright the whole brotherhood of man...father-in-laws who hefted cans
of gasoline with Eisenhower just before the rain. Packed meat. Trimmed sails. Lost hearing oh so many warm summer nights: on that giant hammer, stamping out those Space Shuttle rings.
Torch stitchery shovel perfectionists.
John Deer tractor plow jockeys
More and always, ladies and gentlemen.
Wheelhouse pilots. Roundhouse brakemen. Those who raced for sunlight.
Dock men. Sun bleached farmers.
Those who get there first
Roll out the barrel.
Let the doves fly.