I know you’re a Harvard
Professor of law—legal
legend,renown,celebrated,
decorated,Dream Team alum
Boston Celtic of the bar;
New England Patriot—
Lombardi Trophy— of
Litigation
And I’m just a Poet,
licensed to practice in
Golden and Empire states.
Really, a warehouse worker,
forklift driver, janitor, tryin’
Tranein’ to write. A wannabe.
I only interned a year at the
Greater Watts justice Center—
Cousin’s husband wasDirecting Attorney.
“Discovery,” “duces tecum,” “stare decisis;”
I loved the language and Larry’s southern
gentleman, country boy connection with
juries; Carl Douglas’ bulldogging criminal
matters… I’d even get on the bus and ride
over an hour to see JC, Jr.’s.—pre-Magic
Showtime:starched shirts,suits,ties,shiny shoes—
Ice cold closing arguments. I wanted to be that guy.
Strangely, I dug hanging out on loading docks,
talking to Truckers from all across the country—
sharing a thin lil volume, The State,by another
Lawyer. Anyway, my lil 1.5 cents strategy for
your case:
This is a #Me Too moment —want Harvard students
picketing, boycotting your classes, forcing you out?
Denying,vehemently denying; defaming, shaming
plaintiffs only goes so far…
What if one of the women describes your warhead—
its peculiar red, white and blue coloring?
Bad Hombre’s your best bet.Boss Tweet
laid four years foundation. Let’s walk through it:
Bad Hombres from below the border forced you in to a tinted-
windowed vanat Harvard Square—it’s called “extraordinary
rendition…”
They dripped a magnum of Cristal through a silk scarf
into your mouth, flashed photos, and asked over and over
again: “You like pre-pubescent pussy—Sesame Street sex—
don’t you, don’t you?!” It’s called “enhanced interrogation
techniques…”
They handcuffedand drove you—in your underwear—blacked
out goggles, ear muffs, mittens: it’s called “sensory deprivation”
They loaded you on the Lolita Express against your will
(think Aristide, Haiti)
When the plane reached cruising altitude, Bad Hombres
burst from the cockpit brandishing Glocks and ordered
Lewd sex acts with minors. Slick Willyhad had peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches and was fast asleep.
Of course you followed orders—you feared for your life!
It’s called: “Testi-lying” (think pigs, courtrooms ‘cross the country)
If they insist,
Slap on the wrist—
William The Redactor
Will be the key factor…
…Boss Tweet will pardon…
© 2019. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
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