I Thought There Would More Money Involved With Selling Out

My revolution quietly ended
when I slipped on
a sky blue button up.

Jacob on a patch
above the right breast pocket
the company name
on the left.

The name no longer felt like mine.
Seeing it sewn
in some half cursive font
stole the power from it.

I can recall
being called it
by my mother
with Charles and Mendelsohn tacked on
when I was being an ass.

Or a lover amused
by some line about love
that was cheesy
and cliché,
but honest nonetheless.

I can see the scenes.
Stir up the old feelings.
But I can’t hear my name anymore,
just see the movement of the lips
that once formed it.

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