[Another poem in the Taboo series inspired by Cornelius Eady’s book “Brutal Imaginations.”]
November 28th, 1987,
Joyce Lloray, of sober mind and body,
did witness something quite bizarre.
A black teen girl,
three weeks shy of sixteen,
sneaking around the corner, ‘cross the way.
She opens up a trash bag,
slips herself right down in it,
her cue to start the game of ‘possum.
Lloray’s hubby investigates,
‘possum girl stays mum,
a 9-1-1 is made on account of the loon.
Her body, hair, attire
are smeared with smelly poop,
cops match it to her neighbor’s dog, Remi.
“KKK,” “BITCH,” and “NIGGER”
are scrawled upon her skin:
charcoal used is underneath her nails.
First she blames a white cop.
Next, there’s three to blame,
but the vague description stops at one.
Then after getting counsel,
Maddox, Mason, Sharpton,
the perps soon multiply to six.
And so convenient to blame a dead man,
when death is at his own hand,
no thought of innocent family raked on coals.
The color card is played,
the deck is quickly stacked,
and what ain’t stacked is marked blatantly.
Sharpton, Mason, Maddox,
manipulate the strings of Brawley clan.
Golden rings are promised
when unholy trio speaks,
just sign the dotted line with your blood.
You’ll be set for life Tawana,
if you just deny the truth…
we’ll even toss some crumbs to Mommy and beau.
But never sign the papers
to officially accuse,
and never tell your fairytale in court.
Say often that you’ll be there,
but never once show:
we’ll ignite the whole damn city with your lies.
Mobs don’t care if it’s the truth,
they just want something to kill for,
and Tawana has been shown the benefits.
You’ll soon be one of us,
a hero to your race:
look beyond the fact these careers are built on lies.
“Hell” is just a word
these reverends don’t believe,
or they’d know they bought a penthouse in the Pit.
Celeb’s are just as duped,
or have they just shown their true colors?
Bill Cosby puts up twenty-grand plus five
(and look how he’s turned out many years since).
Allegedly for “the truth,”
which might’ve been believed
without the vile crap about all whites.
Mike Tyson gives Tawana
a diamond studded Rolex:
showing lies pay better than the truth.
How ironic it did turn out,
when Tyson was convicted,
for doing what Tawana fantasized was done to her.
Pete Seeger kept things boiling
at Sharpton’s PR rallies,
I guess “this land is your land” if you lie the loudest.
Phil Donohue and Morton Downey Jr.
broadcast lies nationwide,
more PR for their liberality.
Like Tawana, soon did Downey fall,
words and symbols on body parts,
claimed by others, but did themselves.
The Nation of Islam leader,
Louis Farrakhan, never sits idle
when he can bellow – at the establishment.
Like a circus clown,
parading through Newburgh town,
with a thousand strong approval for the hoax.
The stars, how they fall,
when true colors are exposed,
hundreds claim a piece of the Ace of Spades.
This color, not of skin,
it’s the color of their hearts:
sacrificing truth for the golden goose.
The faithless religion of
Mason, Maddox, and the ill-reverend Sharpton:
a comic book trio DC and Marvel will never print.
Intent on filling coffers
at the cost of Brawley souls:
quickly dies integrity, for a chance at Midas touch.
Like pimps they played their parts,
whoring client ‘cross the nation,
and Tawana only spoke when they said “speak.”
Witch doctors do their spinning
in a hellish racial cauldron:
bubble, boil, and trouble’s all they know.
It’s all for “little sister,”
they swear before the lens –
but screwed her more than her imaginary men.
Branded fool forever,
to all with common sense:
her only friends are fellow acti-bitches.
She’d be flushed in a New York minute
if she ever told the truth –
no more flights, and no more limo rides.
“Pray tell us please,” some say,
“what’s out of whack?”
Why think so many, ‘tis but a hoax?
All who’ve seen the facts,
without a racial looking glass,
come face-to-face with Truth easily.
Like perps that start
with one white cop,
then jump to three, then six.
Remember “BITCH” and “NIGGER,”
the charcoal torso tags?
by her own hand,
only she of all involved
had trace evidence under nails.
Claims of rape – savagely.
Claims of rape – repeatedly.
Four long days – Six burly men.
Yet not one bruise,
not one scratch,
not even a single sperm.
She swore to violent sodomy,
many times, “in two different ways.”
But anus ain’t been touched the experts say.
She says attackers smeared the poop,
the poop from Remi the pooch,
who lived next door to Mommy.
Not in the woods
where she claimed to be,
four days raped and beaten.
No leaf fragments —
not any plant matter
on her clothes or on her person.
from vacant home
Brawleys recently vacated.
Forget not the cotton wads,
to ward off the poop perfume.
Are we to believe
six monster rapists
did this out of kindness?
Consider well the first eye witness,
who saw Tawana sneaking,
and place herself inside the bag.
Had Tawana been white
that fact alone
would’ve stopped the hoax.
Instead, millions of tax-paid dollars
were once again wasted
on another racial witch hunt.
Shame on you Tawana,
and your Pied Piper PR Pimps:
showing you’re no better than racial rats.
[Pictures acquired from weirdrepublic.com, people.com, and stentorian.com.]