Pigeon-hole Me

You can pigeon-hole me in the white-male category. And

I’ll argue but explain—I had no choice in such matters,

I was born this way.

In past days you could pigeon-hole me as tall, a drink of

water or a bean pole for as a teenager I was thin, having no

heft to me at all.

In my time, I have traveled to many places, have seen a

world of faces, and I’ve held myriad jobs to get me through.

Pigeon-hole me as a worker on the move.

Pigeon-hole me as an artist for I’ve painted, drawn and

sculpted over the years. Others admit to me, they can’t draw

a straight line. My secret to them, I use a ruler to draw mine.

Pigeon-hole me, if you please, as a poet, and writer. I would

say, you evolve and hopefully become what you practice with

passion every day over time.

And when I’m done and have nothing more to claim, I’ll take

on most any name—son-of-a-bitch some may say. Pigeon-hole

me for eternity, I’ll have no more ruffled feathers to display.

Chris Hanch 3-16-17