Now I Get to Talk
But will anyone listen?
For three decades, I had a job
where I sat back and listened.
I observed people in crises,
while biting my tongue,
holding back judgment,
because it was on their dime.
I’ve been holding it in for too long —
I’m about ready to burst.
I’ve practiced my speech
for an audience of thousands,
imagined people cheering
when I took center stage —
and hung on my every word.
I know if people let me,
I can speak for days,
telling stories about the time
I stole that protractor at Woolworth’s,
or when I was punched in the face
by a bully on the Atlantic City boardwalk.
I’ll tell people everything.
The first time I ate solid food,
when I got sick on three chili dogs,
attacked by two German shepherds,
and when I fell in love inside a dental hospital —
despite having my wisdom teeth removed.
