Jim-boy
This morning they brought the news in headlines
Got a hangover that’s part of my mind
The word I heard seemed like a secret sign
Clues to a mystery nobody could find
For all the good it did —
Jim-boy, are you the kid
Who saw through the seventh grade?
Who’s going to mind the store
Where your first dollar was made?
Too bad you called the score —
Bet there wasn’t too much bread in those days
With no future in sweat, water in the wine
Guess unloading trucks was work that didn’t pay
And all it meant was Local two-nine-nine
For life to be on line —
Would you have laid down mine —
Or did you not believe?
Go tell the rank and file
Got no words up my sleeve
Jim-boy, that’s not my style —
.
And what’s an union man got with those hoods?
Shakedown rings and the likes of the Waiter?
Strongarm stuff ain’t brought nobody no good
They ain’t brothers, Dio ain’t no teamster
As far as we all know; Jim-boy, where do we go?
That old fifth got more size
Than forgetting today —
Too tired to organize
Can’t see in that old way
Got no use for those Bobbies still and all
I got no use for big times like always
(The higher you go, the deeper you fall)
Now where are you, where were you in those days
When they called all the tunes?
Jim-boy, I still got wounds —
Healing don’t mean lost scars
Pickets play it for keeps
I made the rounds through bars
Jim-boy, I hear men weep —
Tyrone Graham for Written Tales
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