Monday, January 9, 2012

Work History

Work History

My first job, I lucked into it, was
building four letter radio station
call signs from tangled bins
of consonants and vowels. 

In those days it was all
done by hand,

the sharp corner on the F kept you
on your toes, O’s easy to bobble when you got
careless, “slot four, out the door!”,

newbie mnemonic forever
lodged in my brain. 

I bided time on the K
line until a spot opened
on the W, the graveyard shift, it paid
a little more, the hours going
toward my Creative License.

It was the seventies. We chewed betel
to stay awake during long
classical station runs then punched
out woozy,

blind in the morning sun, fingers clawed
and knicked, teeth stained red. 

Top Forty, we popped ‘em
out like biscuits and squirrelled
away X’s to slip
onto the ends of freeform formats, 
small acts of defiance. 

I quit to avoid
prosecution, nabbed at last sneaking
parts out in my pants, one
call letter at a

time, building words, paragraphs, whole
stories in my basement. 

No comments:

Post a Comment