A Li'l Somethin' for Dick Gregory
by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
Our white-bearded cannon
fell silent—
The day became grayer…
I know, I know, I know, I know…
He was my Mom’s favorite funnyman—
She bought his books, his vinyl
Speaking to her like Malcolm
(who she shared Turkish Coffee
with on his trips west, fishing for men)
I remember his mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
Doubling us over,
splitting our sides, shaking our cores…
I remember his mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
Piercing steel veils with X-ray vision
puncturing absurdities with barbed tongue—
Soul-ar powered bullshit detector
administering smell tests
I remember his mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
while coming as close as we’ve come to
Having a Super Hero
putting his body
On the line running,
Marching, fasting, speaking,
Teaching us to follow
the money where the
bodies are buried…
Raymond Nat Turner © 2017 All Right Reserved
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