By Noah C. Lekas
The Wisconsin of my youth was stranded
somewhere between the collapse
of the industrial revolution
& the crack epidemic.
The Wisconsin of my adulthood is lost
somewhere between the promise of restoration
& the stoic acceptance of absolute abandonment.
I, like most of the men in my family
punched a cold steel time clock
…………..& I swept floors
…………..cleared dishes
…………..cleaned cars
…………..emptied trashcans
…………..painted houses
…………..demolished bathrooms
…………..installed cabinets
…………..remodeled kitchens
…………..built crates
…………..& repaired instruments.
I watched the disintegration
of a hard blue American backbone
& the rising tide of an industry-less land,
industriously destitute
the streets of my hometown
are lined with empty buildings.
The malls offer absurd free rent signing deals
to new retailers
& the factories just buckle
under the weight of it all.
I saw the rustic grit of production
fade into the mundane beige
of entry-level white-collar occupation
& I listened to the dreary rhythm
of sweeping white-collar-ization,
the repetitive,
aggressive,
romanticization of skilled labor
& hostility
for the general labor
from which skilled laborers
are cultivated.
I heard the dreams of a revisionist age,
the once upon a time
of a land strong in industry
& I’ve seen the future
that will never be the past
no matter how clever the slogan.
I watched a crusty old region
stuck in its ways,
too slow to join the future,
& I saw the agility of a world running
faster than the speed of internet,
…………..chasing progress
…………..chasing the already known.
& I got lost
in the in-between
holding both sides,
straddling
coast & country,
the outsider looking in,
inside looking out,
…………..the Wisconsinite
…………..the New Yorker
…………..the Californian
connected by a splintered pathway
of dismissal.
& I scraped screen-printing frames
in a windowless factory
& I got paid to write
& I watched perceptions change
faster than people.
& I heard every condescending word
& I met every exhausted American
convinced their job
was stolen not sold,
while voting against them
instead of for themselves,
believing that martyrdom
belongs to the working-class
& that ownership is patriotic.
& I heard it promised
that all this classism
will pay off
right after all the hard work does.
& I got fed & targeted
with digi-digestible memes
promising
today’s answer
was more obvious yesterday.
The Wisconsin of my youth
saw the greatest industries of the 20th century
shrivel up & die
& I watched the golden age of industry
packaged, leveraged & sold
like the Garden of Eden
to cripple the population that it panders to
& fuel the classist-racist-sexist-nationalistic
objective.
& I went back to work,
…………..lost my home
…………..left my family
…………..was laid off
…………..& foreclosed on
…………..& I got canonized
…………..by an infographic
…………..& another promise
…………..that today’s problems
…………..didn’t exist yesterday.
The above short film, “Midwestern,” featuring Randy Davison, was written and directed by Rebecca Joelson, with director of photography Kevin Joelson, based on the poem “Midwestern,” written and performed in the film by Noah Lekas. ■
.
Noah C. Lekas (noahclekas.com) is a writer, musician, and the author of Saturday Night Sage, a collection of poetry about mysticism and menial labor. Originally from Racine, Wisconsin, he has called seven states home while contributing to a variety of publications and gigging with a handful of bands.
Cover image by Tony Webster (creative commons).
Belt Magazine is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. To support more independent writing and journalism made by and for the Rust Belt and greater Midwest, make a donation to Belt Magazine, or become a member starting at $5 per month.
