A Russian has three an’ a half red eyes
five flamin’ antennas
drags a beet-colored ball an’ chain
an’ wants t’ slip germs
into my Coke machine
“burn the tree stumps at the border”
about the sex-hungry lunatics
out warmongerin’ in the early mornin’
“poison the sky so the planes won’t come”
yell the birch colored knights with
patriotic shields
“an’ murder all the un-Americans”
say the card-carryin’ American
book burners
(yes we burned five books last week)
as my friend, Bobby Lee,
walks back an’ forth
free now from his native Harlem
where his ma still sleeps at night
hearin’ rats inside the sink
an’ underneath her hardwood bed
an’ walls of holes
where the cold comes in
scared
wrapped in blankets
an’ she, God knows,
is kind
an’ gentle
ain’t there no closer villains
that the baby-eaten’ Russians
rats eat babies too
I talked with one
of the sons of Germany
while walkin’ once on foreign ground
an’ I learned that
he regards
Adolf Hitler
as we here in the states
regard
Robert E. Lee
fasten up your holster
mr. gunslinger
an’ buy new bolts
for your neck
there is only up wing
an’ down wing
last night I dreamt
that while healin’ ceiling
up in Harlem
I saw Canada ablaze
an’ nobody knowin’
nothin’ about it
except of course
who held the match
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