Love song for the precariat, the preterite
July 10, 2015 § 1 Comment
We were born in towns you’ve never heard of and work jobs of no import. Where we went to school–if we went to school–they print diplomas out on newsprint. Our parents siblings cousins and friends are not on wikipedia. We had no mentor; we were too busy working to harness our talent, refine our craft, find our voice. Our dreams, like our children, are the result of poor planning. We don’t matter, but oh, we want to.