There's A Man at the Microphone

there's a man at the microphone
with years behind him
days and days and days
happy days,
sad days
days that I hope I never see
he knows failure and success
rejection and open arms
he knows big words
too many for me to keep up with
he knows important people
with names i cannot pronounce
he talks like a persuasive essay
and each sentence is announced before spoken
he states his purposes
outright
he speaks confident
as though I'm actually here
but I am not

I am far away
I am in green grass
and blue skies
I am in clouds and breezes
and towering buildings
i am walking in woodruff park
where the homeless people
ignore me
or shout insults at me
I am smiling in the sun
free from the confines
of all of this production
the world is enough production in itself
it doesn't read from a script
it doesn't try to impress me
it doesn't use big words
it just shines and blows
and grows and smiles
back at me

and there I sit
though, here I am
and dream of what it is
that makes this world go around
and what makes this man respectable
what makes him impressive
his money, perhaps
his big words, perhaps
his influential friends

but,
how does his heart beat
when does his brow sweat
what makes his spine shake
who holds his hair when he's vomiting
who holds his hand on valentines day
who's pillow is he?
i don't really care about his words
or his friends or his money
but those are why
he's talking
as I sit here,
far away