B’more Ferguson than Commander-in-Chief, AG or CBC…

B’more Ferguson than Commander-in-Chief, AG or CBC…

by BAR Poet-inResidence Raymond Nat Turner

Prancing soullessly, like life-sized cardboard
Cutouts of himself once populating Rebecca’s
Books in Berkeley, Coffee With a Beat in Oakland
The Commander-in-Chief, puppet of war profiteers,
Masters of war, makeup done in well-lit dressing room,
Is warming up in an underground bunker, basement of
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, with his horrible “war on
Terror,” Teddy Pendergrass impersonation:

“Woe-oh, oh-oh, I like the way you make me kill!
Woe-oh, oh-oh, I like the way you make me kill!
Let me do what I wanna do/fire another missile or two
Let me do what I wanna do/fire another missile or two
Let me do-do-do-do…”

Then, like a transmogrifying medley, he crows:
“Hey-hey, ya-ya/ la-la, ha-ha…
Freddie’s dead/that’s what I said…”
Hey-hey, ya-ya/ la-la, ha-ha…
Freddie’s dead/that’s what I said…”

H’m… now, even slow Negroz
Might consider that “poor taste”—
Though, their dumb asses didn’t
Get it when I went Al Green on
Them at the Apollo:
“I’m so in love with you/Whatever you want to do
Is alright with me…” stupid Negroz thought
It was about the “sistas,” didn’t know that
I was crooning in code for the Bros.—
Charles & David Koch, Warren Buffett,
Bill Gates, job creators, deciders…
“Let’s stay together/loving you forever!”

“Hey-hey, ya-ya/ la-la, ha-ha…
Freddie’s dead/that’s what I said…”
Hey-hey, ya-ya/ la-la, ha-ha…
Freddie’s dead/that’s what I said…”

Sometimes tunes stick in your mind like
Crazy glue, but to go Curtis could hurt us…
Silly street criminals, thugs—now, I probably shouldn’t call
Them “thugs” that, too, could be considered “poor taste”—
Even the Slutty Professor will have a hard time spinning
Me out of this one and into gold again—but I hear him:”

‘Rather than retreating to the lofty language of state, deracinated and encapsulated in sesquipedalian diction, he chose, instead, as Commander-in-Chief of the whole people — not simply the best and brightest — to employ the common touch, the granular vernacular of the salt of the earth…Nobly, he chose to forego pomp and circumstance and make profound content accessible to even the most common ‘hood dweller, he chose, or shall we say, “sampled” from the ever popular phraseology of “thug life” defined by and identified with such iconic cultural figures as Tupac Shakur…He should be praised for this valiant and brilliant effort at bridging the various gaps that prevail in contemporary society!”

The commander once snidely chided Black folk,
“Quit complaining and get out of your bedroom
Slippers and into your marching shoes…” today—
Spirits, un-throttled, voice boxes un-crushed,
Belting mosaics of militant slogans off buildings
Like Ma Rainey, Big Joe Turner Blues shouters,
As ostinato fingers of orange flames play angry
Arpeggios in April’s evening sky and bottles and
Rocks rain unabated on armored thugs of the 1%!
With unbroken vertebrae and un-severed spines
Steeled in resistance, takin’ it to the streets…
Ferguson flint striking Baltimore brush—
Boarded houses, rusting factories, double-digit
Cells of unemployment, airtight cages of
Poverty, slavery, shuttered schools and “less
Lethal” lynchings, weekly… single sparks
Igniting prairie fires across the country—
How you like ‘em now, Commander?

Raymond Nat Turner can be contacted at Raymond (at) upsurgejazz.com

More Stories