IMAGE: Background Art: Detroit Industry Murals by Diego Rivera, 1932-1933, Detroit Institute of Arts.
If you want to think about Detroit
You have to think about the line
That is, the assembly line
Even if you never worked in a plant
The rhythm is the line.
Plenty of time for silent contemplation
Prayers, plans, dreams and songs
Working with all the others
Go when its go, stop when its stop
All of us in the same rhythm
In the same time
On the same line.
What! Take a break!
I’ll cover your job for a while
Hook ‘em up, gauge ‘em and hang ‘em
At 6 a minute I can do 2 jobs, give you a break
Or hang arms on the double
So you have an hour off
Then, I do too.
Cooperation is our way
We help and don’t ask, we do.
Our individual improvisations
Are like the jazz on the radio
Or the amphitheatre downtown at the festivals
Loud, strong, captivating, unique
Our pattern is together
Like a quilt,
Or a union on strike.
Detroit is the blues
You think about in church,
The jazz at Orchestra Hall
The library books we read in the park
The poems we recite
On the porch in the dark
Smoking joints, drinking pop or beer
It’s water right now
I’m surrounded
Trees and water
It’s their rhythms I hear.
While I stand on the line
Hooking up brake shoes
The wood floors swaying in water
The concrete magnifying the noise.
I need a break
From the brake shoe line
Oh its breaking my heart.
I’ve retired now
To a country house
Trees and leaves
Burning bush red in the late fall
My rhythm slow
But still on time.
Black Lives Matter
I chant with the rest
1-2-3-4 5-6-7-8 9-10-11
Fuck 12
My heart sings
Our movement moves forward
Detroit
Stays in step
Even with the plants closed
We have
The rhythm of the line.
