Tuesday, March 07, 2006

On The Cusp of Things...

© 7 March 2006, The Griot Poet

I am forty-three.
Admittedly, I am supposed to be at the apogee of my career.
I once was.
Because of the “good” of the global economy,
My job was downsized, outsourced without apology
(Or lubricant) for the entrance of my cubicle
And the exit of my own self assurance
That I could provide for my family.

I have not the perspective that politicians see on official visits across the sea to India that this is a good thing! This is not Martin’s “let freedom ring.”

I wrote a blog called “Outsourced American”
As spiritual breadcrumbs
I refuse to be dumb
About the pain I’ve gone through
The changes I’ve endured
It’s a wonder my family is together, whole...

If I’d taken a poll six months ago
I wouldn’t make a fair bet that
I’d yet be typing these words…
Corpses don’t do diction well.

Though these thoughts are dark,
No one contemplates
Heaven or hell
When the very meaning of one’s existence
Falls into question...

I have had
Crash learning sessions
With ecliptics and reflector telescopes
Labs and homework
Working with people almost half my age
At the stage of their life where things are just beginning...
I remember well!

I remember when my time had ended
At my undergraduate matriculation
Volunteered service to the Air Force
That started the first seeds of strife...

Forced to leave for a lie, I had to recreate another life
As a semiconductor process engineer
For reference, see the first stanza
Of this piece, first line beginning: “I am forty-three.”

A midterm approaches
As I appeal to the UNKNOWN God
Of Paul (and me)
That created all
To recreate in me a mind that recalls
Everything on Black Holes and Binary Stars
Because it is through favor that I am even here at all…

Failure is not an option
Because I have fewer decades ahead of me
And more behind
The only motive that spurs:
Cadet Colonel Wall of Army JROTC stating to me
“Your kind will NEVER rise to this rank.”

I’ve had this shank stabbed in my chest before
And when I was younger I endured
And fought hard
To let the enemy know I deplore his tactics
That he’s a PUNK;
A chump!

And just like you didn’t stop me then
You WON’T stop me now!

However: I am forty-three.
I am further from my birth and closer to forever.
Even though I tire of the assault: face bloody, wind sucking, knees buckling; boxed ears ring; I will not be defeated.
I feel... I am on the cusp of things!

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