"When My Time Comes"

I've had the stories and characters from The Song Poet inside me for years. Here's a song I wrote a decade ago, in the person of the novel's protagonist, Pete Zane, writing in 1937.

Here it is in context from Chapter 59, "Plumb Hungry (Monday, May 3, 1937)," during a song-sharing meeting in Manhattan's Central Park between Peter and Teddi Cochrane--the Appalachian South Carolina poet that's becoming his icon--in the Orthodox sense of the word..

She hands the guitar back.

“I started this like a joke song,” I say. “A guy singin' about all the good things he's got comin' to him. You know—the way we pray for justice when we oughta be prayin' for mercy."

She grins.

"But... then my whole life came apart. My family, the money...."

She nods.

"Changed somethin'," I say. "I kinda forgot about it."

"I got songs like that," Teddi says.

"But when I came back up in February—after bein’ down with y’all—it came together."

She watches a bird fly over, then looks back.

“So what’s it about now?”

“It’s for us," I say. "'Bout a guy works at the mill.”

I pluck out a bit of the intro and stop.

"I guess it’s about hope. Hope when you got no reason for it.”

She nods slowly.

I look down and start the vamp again.

I swear, I can feel her heat. Taste it.

When my time comes…

Gonna drop this spool,

Head on down the hill,

Take my kids from the company school,

Pull my wife from the mill,

When my time comes.

When my time comes.

When my time comes,

Gonna pound the counter

Of the First Walhalla Bank,

Hand a big check to the teller,

Tear that mortgage in his face,

When my time comes.

When my time comes.

When my time comes,

Gonna of laugh again,

And my boys will walk so tall.

In their eyes I’ll see

Who I meant to be

And not the man I wanna kill ...

For letting them down.

For letting them all down ...

When my time comes.

Bridge

Build a house beside the creek,

Teach my sons how to hunt with bows

And the ways of the Eastern Band ...

Keep my home ...

Kiss my wife in a moonlit dance,

Her cheek cupped in my hand ...

When my time comes.

When my time comes.

When I finish, the air between us buzzes.

Teddi’s eyes are wide, breath shallow. Her fingers graze mine.

“That’s beautiful,” she whispers. “My Lord. You mean them words to the root.”

I nod.

“You’ll drive the ladies to distraction singin’ that.”

“I don’t want the ladies. I want a lady.”

“Is that so?” Her lips part. “And who would this lady be?”

A herd of uniformed schoolkids stampedes past, laughing.

Teddi doesn’t look. She leans closer.

“Peter,” she tucks an auburn strand behind her ear. “In the song... when they dance?”

I look down at the guitar.

“They don’t dance. He just hopes they will.”

When I look up, a tear’s slid down her cheek.

God, I think, I want to kiss her till her knees give.