The Man Who Was Something

i.) Clown

A trifold mirror,
Lighted within
Showed a man transformed. 
Grease paints,
A faded red nose,
Chuck Taylor sneakers,
(Bright green), and
A plaid suit
With over-sized buttons

Made him
A clown,
When clowns were still
Innocent.
He was
The bringer of joy.
Painting on a face,
He became
Something.

ii.) Trucker

A young man
With empty hands
And emptier pockets
Faced the world,
Standing at the cusp of
Adulthood.
What did he know?
He could drive a truck,
Riding high above
Tiny cars,
Feeling the rumble of
A bigger engine,
The freedom
Of the open road.
With the windows down
And the radio on,
His left arm
Gained a suntan,
His wallet filled,
And the days slipped by
Like white dashes

On an endless highway. 

With a dusty trucker hat

Perched atop his curly head,

He whistled an old song

And cracked jokes on the CB radio.

He was

Something. 

iii.) Christian

A broken heart leaves an empty hole. 

What to do?

Hurt and searching,

A young man 

Stumbled over the doorstep

Of a church.

Loving arms 

Caught him. 

Kind faces

Welcomed him. 

Holy hands

Lifted him. 

He made friends,

Learned new songs,

And put all of his swear words

Up on a shelf. 

He bought a shirt with a collar

And a pair of Sunday shoes. 

He even found

The perfect wife. 

Dreaming of 

Missionary adventures and

Holy callings,

He really felt like

Something. 

iv.) Work Boots

When the shine wears off

Of brand-new boots

Sometimes a man

Finds himself

With two stiff hunks of leather

That rub his heels,

Blister his toes,

And just don't seem to fit. 

Sometimes, he tries on

Someone else's boots

To see if he made a mistake

In purchasing his own. 

Maybe he returns to throw them out,

But finds them willing

To stretch and yield,

To be forgiving.

He keeps them after all

To break them in,

Yet every day,

He nurses blisters

And curses the boots,

Wearing them

As little as possible,

Preferring to leave them

Neatly paired and polished

In the closet at home. 

Even boots that don't fit are

Something. 

v.) Engineer

What does a man do

When his life doesn't run smoothly,

When the world is big

And unruly,

When adulthood

Squeezes the joy

Out of every day?

He builds trains. 

Oh, the wonder

Of creating a world

Where everything is small,

Lovely,

Perfect in detail,

And functions

Just as it should!

Visitors to his apartment

Marveled

At the beautiful layouts,

Bitty buildings,

Mâché mountains,

Twisting tracks, and

Tiny trees. 

"You made all of this?!"

They would exclaim. 

Surveying his world

From beneath the brim 

Of his engineer hat,

The man knew

He was

Something. 

vi.) Bluegrass Musician

A young man loved music. 

He could play the guitar-

Nothing fancy,

Just a handful of chords

With a run or two

Thrown in 

Like a pinch of salt. 

What would he play?

Something easy,

Something alive,

Something happy. 

He became

A bluegrass player. 

With rhythm and drive,

A capo and six strings,

He could sing the saddest of stories

While making toes tap in time. 

Hands clapped, heads nodded,

People smiled and even danced. 

Up on the stage, 

He really felt like

Something. 

vii.) Farmer

Tired of rules, traffic, and suburbs,

A man bought some land,

A house and a barn,

Two horses,

A creek, 

And some tractors. 

He would be

A farmer. 

He built a bigger barn,

Bought a bigger tractor,

A plough, a disc, and a wagon.

In a rented field,

He ploughed the earth

In straight rows,

Covered the garbage

With fertile soil,

And planted

Corn and beans. 

Trucking all day, then
Tending his crops
Evenings and weekends,
He was a working man. 

When the corn poured out

From the combine's auger,

The man knew he was

Something. 

viii.) Cowboy

Saddles and spurs,

An old lariat,

Ten gallon hats,

And cowboy songs

Called to a boy,

Stirring his soul

With a longing for

Purple canyons,

Lonely plains,

Lowing cattle, and

Star-swept skies. 

The blood of a cowboy 

Ran in his veins. 

The song of a cowboy

Swelled in his heart. 

When he became a man,

The South Dakota plains

Lay far away in the west,

Yet he sang their songs,

Told their stories,

And dreamed of campfires,

Coyotes, and cattle calls. 

When he donned his Stetson,

Neckerchief, and boots,

When he yodeled and yipped,

It seemed like he was really a part of

Something. 

ix.) Dad

On a day in July,

Then September,

Then August,

A man became 

Dad. 

Protector, educator,

Disciplinarian,

Tickle-fighter,

Santa, 

Playhouse builder,

Go-kart track maker,

Hayride driver,

Rainbow mural painter,

And school board member,

He stood tall on his pedestal,

The hero. 

Watching his son play basketball,

Reading good report cards, 

Attending concerts,

Snuggling and laughing, and 

Watching John Wayne movies

Made being a dad really

Something. 

x.)  Truck Owner

Working for a cranky, old man

Year in and out

Made a man dream of

Self-employment. 

Freedom hung like a star,

Lofty and bright

Before his eyes. 

One day, 

The man left the trucking yard

For the last time

And bought a truck of his own.

A purple Kenworth beauty

With a swan on the hood

And a sleeper cab

Crowned the top of the cake

At his celebration party. 

Family and friends gathered

To wish him well. 

As he set off from home and family

In a truck of his own,

With open roads before him, 

The man swelled with pride. 

Finally he was going to become

Something. 

xi.) Praise Band Leader

A pastor asked a man

To lead the church praise band. 

Enthusiastically, the man

Began selecting music. 

He bought CDs,

An amp,

And two new guitars. 

He bought a multi-effects guitar pedal

And printed up chord sheets. 

Assembling a team,

He held practices,

And on Sunday mornings,

The drums and bass pulsed

As melodic guitars and keys

Filled the church 

With songs of praise, light, and hope. 

As the man strummed his guitar,

He looked out over a congregation 

Of worshippers with raised hands,

And he felt he was chosen for

Something. 

xii.) Biker

A young man owned a motorcycle,

But sold it when his children were small. 

Once they had grown up,

He remembered

Wind in his hair,

Freedom,

Sound, and scenery, so

He bought a Harley Road King. 

Flying down the road,

Leather-clad and goggled,

He gave the biker wave

To other riders

Like a secret handshake

In a club. 

With gold hoops in his ears,

Patches on his jacket,

Betassled handlebars,

And loud chrome pipes,

He rode to motorcycle rallies,

Poker runs,

And Biker Sunday. 

Astride his bike, he really was

Something. 

xiii.) Sometimes

Not all dreams last. 

Sometimes a man

Awakens

To a mountain of debt,

A barn full

Of silent tractors,

Stalls piled with junk,

Fields scattered with

Dead snowmobiles,

An abandoned wagon,

And an empty tractor cab

Drowning in tall, brown grass. 

Sometimes model trains
Sit in boxes,
Mâché mountains crumble,
And dust covers the tracks
Of layout pieces stacked in the barn. 

Sometimes society decides that
Clowns are creepy. 

Sometimes your adorable children

Become surly teenagers

Who challenge authority,

Defy the rules,

Or leave for college

Wearing studs and combat boots. 

Sometimes the trucking business fails

And all that remains

Is the Kenworth,

Lonely and forlorn,

With nowhere to go. 

Sometimes your boots still give you

Blisters

Because you just couldn't bear

To wear them

Until they really broke in. 

Sometimes the church hires

A new music pastor

To pack the pews,

And you end up

Back in one

Instead of on the team. 

Sometimes

Your life falls apart,

And you stumble back out of the church

With a broken heart. 

Sometimes

Sad songs

Are just sad songs

No matter how fast you play them. 

Sometimes

You're just a guy

In a cowboy hat

A long way

From South Dakota. 

But you know what?

I still think 

You're

Something.