Great Hope (Black) Baptist Church—Watts—
All day long … Loved me some “Amen!”
“Preach!” call and response communion
‘Round rockin choirs—And mic drop sermons!
And, Sly-like, Mommy’s best friend Bea rocked
B-3 organ! And her grand got us on the ‘good foot’
Sweltering Sunday mornings Reverend
Duvall delivered the smell-good, silk, mohair word!
So, nights of clever phrases and soaring oratory are
Entertaining! Nights of escaping scrutiny on redacted
Resumes and air-brushed bios are amusing. But, think of me as a
Guitar in the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame— that will not be played …
Juxtapose red, white and blue balloon drop— to 2,000 lb.
Bomb drops on overstuffed homes, hospitals, schools … Consider
Families shredded into puzzle pieces and fished from reflecting pools of
Blood …
Joyous nights of triangulation and Duopoly singing! “Promises, promises,
Promises!” Surprisingly, Slick Willy didn’t reprise shades and saxophone!
Surprisingly, The Drone Ranger didn’t break into “Amazing Grace—” or do
His Flint Water Magic Trick—Or his Skippy-Gate Beer with Po-Po Trick …
My itty-bitty Black Job is to
Unpack your joy … Layer it. Nuance it. Complicate its intersectional
Place in planet pecking order. And, drill down on your disbelief in
Your own agency embodied in …. “Every cook can govern …”
My baby Black Job is to get under your hood. Into your weeds.
Down your rabbit hole—Center capitalism— And, “Say its name!”
It’s my Black Job to warn you: Bilingual, biracial, transgender giant—
Or disabled dwarf, HBCU Peace Studies PhD —Capitalism’s in charge …
My part-time Black Job’s pushing back on Identity Intoxication … To
Hurl history into your high. To tug on threads of cotton fiber reminding
You of Happy Dances/Electric Slides on thin ice. Recall your coma of 8
Years as the Drone Ranger/Deport-er-in-Chief whacked other peoples’ babies?!
My boring Black Job’s telling you— umpteenth time— Warfare State,
War House, White Supreme Court, Capitalist Hill are wholly-owned by
Warlords of Wall Street. Generals! General Atomic, General Dynamics,
General Electric and brothers Boeing, Lockheed-Martin, Raytheon, et al.
My 3-D: dull/dirty/dangerous; 3-H: hot/heavy/hazardous Black Job’s
Translating diplomat-tease: “Working tirelessly for a ceasefire!” into gutter
Tongue of Genocide: … “Ironclad, we ain’t Blinken, Biden our time lending
Cover to Final Solution proceeding unabated on your $20 billion dime …”
© 2024. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR’s Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. You can Vote for his work at GoFundMe and PayPal .