Once upon a time wagons
circled ‘round The Juice and
bassackwards Thom-ass
Clarence. Today, I see
semi-circled wagons and
hear tears in voices and
explanations that don’t
Explain… I feel like saying,
Lady Day like, “Hush, now…”
You see, once upon a time
ketchup was a Vegetable;
contras Freedom Fighters;
Vietnam noble;
Bottled water a
Crime of status as
Alphabet agencies
flooded the ‘hood with
white powder, prison
culture/murder music—
The Reagan ‘80s
when Jel-
Low
Puddin’
Man
trickled
down
Jel-
Low
Puddin’
Man
trickled
down
on a landscape littered with blood,
bodies, caged men and women—their
Heroic Black Liberation Movement/War
Exhausted…
Jel-
Low
Puddin’
Man
trickled
down
piling
sugary
skyscrapers
of Huxtabullshit
on the black bourgeoisie’s
Taste for franchises, sub-
contracts, soft leather
seats in boardrooms—
On alley Black backs…
Jel-
Low
Puddin’
Man
trickled
down
and
Teddy told me—and I’m
paraphrasing— “I think
you betta let it go… if it
Looks like another Booker TKO!”
© 2018. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved
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"That Sunday morning Mom cried …" is the latest from BAR's Poet-in-Residence.
