I worked as a roofer to support my radio job.

I’d like to believe I had thousands of listeners. With mix 102.5s broadcast capability maybe tens of thousands of listeners. The radio job didn’t pay enough to count on it. So I roofed houses after work. I’d joke on air sign off saying “I have to go to work now to support my radio habit”. I drove an old dodge truck with a slant six. Used my shoe lace one time to make a linkage for a throttle cable fix other times it sat next to the road as I scurried into the automated radio station Whitney Houston singing the national anthem fired at 6 a.m after that would be dead air without live personality taking over.Whitney would be singing as I entered the building. I would Start my show saying “I had to run two consecutive four minute miles to get here this morning”. Shaking my mouse with one hand and bringing up the weather with the other. Looking at the phone lines lit up where’s my music log. First block of music that I ran every morning I called “the boss is still in bed block” we were best hits best variety this block was for the third shifters. Smashing pumpkins were the easiest for me to find. I had my pumpkins in the stations computer. I’d joke with my friends if you ever hear the station playing consistent Smashing Pumpkins music I’ve quit and I’m on my way home. It was an automated station and I was it. Program director, mourning show host, fights with the sales people about talent fees when I could be on a roof on Saturday making money. Yep some Pumpkins and go home.. I wrote this poem at the radio station… called “Job related stress” I mixed it with smashing pumpkins in the arms of sleep. I spent 17 hours making the 29 second piece. Writing it may have taken weeks.

(Video comming)

(I added a link to the video)

Job related stress

I sometimes wish that I were in a battle.
With loud banging gunfire around me.
Fighting with all my heart for some purpose
To expose and save my life.
Explosions echoing,
Through trees and over hills.
Wanting to attack the action,
Seems to be in the next gorge.

Ravishing through thick brush and then
Bellies down sliding down the gorge.
To find empty shells.
And again echoing gunfire from over the hills.
Only louder this time.
My heart pounds to the consistent banging,
Bang, bang, bang!
Sitting up in pure sweat clutching the alarm
Clock in both hands.

No use for the snooze button today.
Its back to the battle.


Bob Jenkens