It is
post-Nation
time,
kick off
the covers,
give the reveille
bugle-blower
a fitting
farewell…
he has done
more than
his bit,
he fell
fighting fircely
for it all
to gel…
it is
post-Nation
time,
time to deck him
with the real laurels
he more than
well deserved,
but of which
he was
rudely shorn
by the foe;
not that they
wholly denied
it all
to him,
they simply tried
to unman him
with a crown
of thorns,
deftly disguised
to seem
like pearls…
but as always,
he was
two steps ahead
of the sinister lot,
and saw through
it all
with amused
contempt…
yes,
they tried
to mislead him
with a crown
of thorns…
bid him
salute and
serenade
their carnage
with glee…
like Stackolee,
he ran
rhythmic rings
around their weird
and wiley ways,
then he ripped it
and mashed it
with his boots…
time to call
a spade a spade,
time to put
such silliness
to sleep –
whoever heard of
a poet laureate
jump Jim-Crow…
hung a moldy
candy-cane
in the crook
of his arm,
in hopeless hopes
his conscience
had been bought
on the cheap –
no need
to worry,
the sharpest darts
of his barbs
were yet
to strike;
and of this much
they had been
warned,
but as usual,
they laughed it off
like it was
all a joke,
seeing he had aged
and become as
cool as ice,
in their dreams,
that is,
so they laughed it off
and called him
a clown,
then he struck
like lightening
amidst the flood,
and they couldn’t
take it
anymore,
took off
his thorny crown
and ran as
fast as hell,
fireflies
nibbling
at their balls…
come on
it’s post-Nation time,
kick off the covers,
give the brother
a fitting
dispatch…
1/11/14