My ears stood open to
\nthe earnest searching of Mary Ann,
\nthin, serious, fun-loving and determined,
\nwhose lilting words
\ndispatched trucks here, there, hither, thither
\nto feed packages to airplanes’ waiting bellies,<\/p>\n
and then to win drivers for revolution.<\/p>\n
My ears recoiled at first
\nfrom Stuart’s cynicism,
\na well-earned doubt based on his years of defeat,
\nfrom seeing friends’ hopes
\nturn to sectarian wrangling.
\nBut my open listening
\nand what we were actually doing
\nwon Stuart back to hope,
\nto organizing other workers in his warehouse
\nto speak,
\nto fight,
\nto rebel.<\/p>\n
My ears welcomed the laughter
\nof tall, agile, and joyous Larry,
\nhis thoughts and questions
\nas we discussed the Spanish revolution
\non the steps of my home
\nnear a wheat field in Piscataway,
\nhis thoughts of why prices soar and nations fall,
\nhis questing lust
\nfor workers’ risings.<\/p>\n
And as Larry and Stuart and I
\nmet in coffee shops to plan
\nshop bulletins,
\nand they, Mary Ann, Howard and I
\ntalked Teamster politics
\nand how UPSurge and TDU were organizing
\nworkers\u2019 power,
\nwe could taste our growing hope
\nlike oatcakes
\nfor Rosinante\u2019s equine lips.<\/p>\n
But although we listened, loved, and offered solace,
\nthe economic crawl-down
\nand the politicians\u2019 and other corporate leaders\u2019
\nsoldiers, cops and racist ethics of rabid hyenas
\nsteamrolled hope,
\nsteamrolled resistance,
\nsteamrolled solace,
\nsteamrolled solidarity.<\/p>\n
Was I then but a recruiter
\nfor a hopeless Don Quixote,
\na misleader of friends,
\na windmill scrambler of dreams?
\nSo some one-time comrades say,
\nafter our decades of failure,
\ndecades
\nof woe.<\/p>\n
But listen, just listen . . .
\nas we near the ends of our frustrated lives,
\nI can now join again as workers strike,
\nas whole communities rebel against cops\u2019 killings,
\nand I hear a new talk of change, of organizing workers\u2019 power,
\nand whispers of revolution.<\/p>\n
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