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Strutting in a Cold Sweat
By Rudolph Lewis
On the lower end Druid Hill is
lined with trees. They not oaks
like they once were. Nor lemon
colored sweet men with pencil
mustaches. They died like old
habits, slowly. Full-lipped blacks
with knots dense as African jungles
now speak their minds. In hallways
golden smiles dimmed like pulled
down chandeliers sold for scrap
Bethlehem Steel has closed its
gates. We still runs to the corner
for bologna slices & salty fatback
still seasons lima beans. Out of
work we sleep whiskey dreams
Choirs are pre-recorded gospels
at Bethel AME. At New Psalmist
Baptist on Old Frederick Road
Walter Scott Thomas baptizes
himself a sweet smelling Bishop
His esteemed wife is dressed as a
white angel in Woman Thou Art
Loosed Cookbook by Bishop
T.D.
Jakes. Undercover they all have
the spiritual gift of lively
tongues
I’ve read Milton’s Paradise
Lost
I know the Devil ain’t
interested
in a life of poverty. The Army
of the Lord now gets professional
wages. Their blazing canons go
Bang! Bang! Bang! when they get
laid as law-abiding citizens.
Shades
have been drawn. The globe lights
up with Shock & Awe! Pain
ain’t
blues when the world grows dark
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