The Mouthpiece
A poem written in reflection on Urbana 2000. |
I stand on stage, still and cold,
As twenty thousand scurry in;
Though first to hear what will be told,
I’m stiff as steel, but I begin.
Students enter in a hurry,
Finding seats for Fong and Gee;
Never do I need to worry
Because a spot is saved for me.
Delegates high in section C
Don’t suspect the role I play
In the worship team’s soulful journey
From English to Creole, singing “Māche.”
Except for the masters of the sound,
To the rest, I’m barely known;
My job: transmit the voice around,
Since I am but a microphone.
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Posted on: Apr 15, 2001 Last modified on: Jan 9, 2007 |
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