Seattle Could Be Paris
D. G. is dead, he fucked with the needle one time too many.
Myra birthed, their child stillborn, light in Doug's eyes went out.
Doug used the signature D. G., he worshiped Dexter Gordon.
If he’d lived Doug could’ve seen his idol in that French movie
Round Midnight. Doug loved Thelonius Monk, but no piano
where he lived, the lowest street but one above the waterfront.
You want to rap about God, go ahead. He’s no clarinet,
certainly not mine. Back in estados unidos, death is a time clock.
Punch in, pick up your gun and magazine, go kill all the sinners
who show themselves. God is everywhere. Wait until you hear
the little crack that sounds no more lethal than a firecracker.
Live through that day or night, fear the end as the beginning.
(26 September 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander