Following Studs Terkel

Last night I dreamt of Studs Terkel
He was living in a junk yard
Abandoned silo-looking warehouses full of stuff
Pieces of ripped fabric and couch cushions had turned yellowish brown by age, wind, and dust
His dog was trailing as he went from warehouse to warehouse
Looking for something he had left behind
All the while I followed
Noticing his hair was half gone, his face pockmarked, tired
Where was my hero, the man who went to places he did not belong
In search of stories no one really wanted to hear?
He must have tired of interviewing poor black folks,
White middle class people with all their guilt
Maybe it drove him crazy, the uselessness of it all
Most would rather not read the words of the oppressed
Let alone write them
Now all this great man did was search the rubble
And I was there following him
Even though I didn’t know what we were looking for.