“…hear me now, five, four, three, two, one…
Runnin' to the door, peepin' out the window
Hopin' to see only you
Listenin’ for the phone, checkin' out the tick tock
Countin' if it's a certain time
Darling, don't stay away too long
Pretty baby, I know you're working hard for me
Darling, baby, don't stay away too long
Pretty baby, save the overtime…”
Thin blue line of condoms
Protecting, serving our
finest in harm’s way—
Hot pursuit—wetly, warmly
fearing for their safety:
Chlamydia, Herpes,
Gonorrhea—scornful
shrieks of wives—keeping
Sex in the city safe…
It’s a tough job—but
someone must Just do
It under capitalism—
When not firing 41
shots in vestibules;
Ignoring pleas, “I
can’t breathe…”
Tackling cyclists;
Kettle-ing marchers,
Crushing Occupy;
Breaking strikes; putting
cases on people—planting
contraband and throwaway
Guns…
Writing fiction, acting
Shakespearean—
Testi-lying in court…
imagining men and women upstate
Today, they threw a few into the
fire until the next sizzling scandal
of Red Squad surveillance, Mosque
crawlers, dirty ‘detectives,’ street
Executions by walking-hate crimes…
But who was crossed in the wicked
world where useless thugs are
Untouchable, and the few good men
and women with spines are ‘rats?’
Whose palm went un-greased?
Whose beak was left bone dry in
the fraternal order of Vitamin S—
Nips-fueled failed jocks, sadists,
Killers, bullies back from free-
fire zones in oil wars?
Maybe, OverTime’s up—
for a “few bad apples…”
from a rotten orchard?
© 2018. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Our poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner is an acclaimed performing artist. Find much more of his work at http://upsurgejazz.com.
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