Adam Sol

manifesto

Long before the maintenance men
came to sweep us away
with their battered brooms and bromides,

long before the wily commentators conspired
to water us down
with taglines and balanced reporting,

long before the governor gave permission
to his merry ministers
to have their way with the remainders,

we had come to understand that our representatives
were holding us lightly
in abeyance or contempt

and that nothing was beneath them,
and so we’d need
to rally our arguments and stockpile

machinery. Not to forge new fields of vision
or technological accomplishment,
no, merely to maintain the state

that we and our ancestors had grown
accustomed to assume
was civilization.

Let me tell it to you straight: a man in a highbacked chair
will stop at nothing
to grind you to dust

so you’d better put some metal in the mix
to foil the sifters.
I know whereof I speak.

I was there at the concrete parade. 
I threw bottles with the martyrs.
I believed in the slogans I was shouting.

And if now I huddle in my hovel
with not a name to my name
think not that it’s been some punishment

for my sins but merely the natural consequence 
of saying No
to those who only hear Hooyah.

I am ruined but defiant, and my kidneys 
pucker from cleansing 
my blood of all that bile.

But I will achieve solace when the next cohort
rises to bring forth 
a new era of idealism. 

I await you, dear rampagers,
at the borders of faith,
rage, and frustration, 

with my flag loosely furled
and a chemical formula
that will surprise you with its potency.

Come forth, angry children.
Release me from my despair.
I stand ready with my slouch, 

my crooked shoulder,
and my angry bag of beans.

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Adam Sol is the author of four collections of poetry, including Crowd of Sounds, which won Ontario’s Trillium Award. His most recent book is How a Poem Moves, a collection of essays. He teaches at the University of Toronto’s Victoria College and lives in Toronto.