“plug Me In, And Turn Me Up” Poem by Charles Monroe

In inner city schools I've sat
And wondered-off through senseless chat
The music class I could not join
For reasons I will not discuss
Just one instrument at home
Learned to play the Microphone.

Though it is strenuous to play
She came so natural to me
Some, they call her
“Em eye see”
But the Mic
Was meant for me.

Couldn’t tell you how it sounds
You must feel it for your selves
Accompanied by Bass and Kick Drum
Rim-shot with a quiet-snare,
A simple, Light-Cymbal, bell-air
And There I go-

-And then the keys,
The tempo slowed
Like 83’s,
Kind of hip-hop, kind of blues
The revolutions are at ease
Then guitars and mpc’s.

“Check-One-Two,
-Check-One-Two, Check! ”
Violin strings that
Sweetly wept
And resonated retrospect
To memories forgotten.

A background sound of
Music tears,
A cry of Music
To my ears.
While I slept and
Dreamt-up fears-

For years,
A product-
Of my peers.
But now,
I can produce
For years.

An instrument of wind or brass
Was quite unlikely for my... class
But once the Mic was in my grasp
Music in my very gasp
How must we conduct the Mass?
Are the questions that we ask now

Or acquire me a wire
One note flyer than the choir
We require to inspire
Plug me in on any channel
See me lighting-up the panel
Vocals over grand piano

Broken tones
Chords diminished
Poured all over broken spirits
Broken glass and broken English
Broken promise,
Broken bones.

Broken bottles of Merlot
Broken heart or broken soul
Product from a Broken home
But right now I’m in the zone
Plug me in, and turn me up-
Hook me up an average cup-

Broke it down; made it known
I can play the Microphone.
P.X
11-18-13