If certain current events turn your stomach, this one’s for you.
To see your country descend into astonishing, dismaying levels of corruption, hatred, and racism; to see an army of smug lower-case wannabe bullies defend the indefensible actions of an upper-case Bully; to see attacks on immigrants, on the free press, on the environment and on the rule of law, all to bolster a money-grabbing con; to see all this and more, on a daily basis, is to feel angry, betrayed, confused . . . and sick. So a body metaphor suggests itself to a poet.
Talked this one’s chorus into the mic first, then used the DNA method to set a tempo, bass line and rhythm track.
Kate Tempest was a key inspiration, as were the The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy. And James Brown, of course, is the wise man reference for the “money won’t change you” line.
Here you have it: poetry to make you puke. Ha haaaaa haaa!
Body Politic What's happening to my body Politic? Is this a disease, Or am I just sick? When I was just a baby, a few days old Had to get a blood transfusion, that was the Constitution And then as a teen of 18 or 12 I caught a Canadian’s cold And in a fistfight suffered a minor contusion Then in a tougher fight, got hit by cousins’ cannonball crossfire I caught typhoid, dysentery and pneumonia And nearly had to get an amputation But the army doctor didn’t know to look for cancer And a nasty tumor metastasized, JimCrowanoma Still a young man, My eyes and lungs got burned by chlorine and mustard gas I had blisters oozing yellow pus Pearl Harbor was a hit to the gut, blood everywhere, another transfusion And Korea and Vietnam nearly took me out And probably I never healed properly But then I got complacent Quit going for my annual checkup Thought I was invincible Now something’s eating at me from within And I’m doubled over in agony The only time I invoke Jesus Paying for my hypocrisy and paying twice for my sins, no doubt A wise man once said that money won’t change you But time will take you out Problem is, money did change me And time might be running out Nothing humorous about these humors Blood and phlegm and bile, and gall, the gall! Now feel like I’ve caught some nasty bug Should’ve worn a mask like Michael I guess Feel like I have orange soda instead of blood Orange soda mixed with undigested fast food beef Clogging my arteries, fogging my brain I should have the strength of a teen Instead I’m ready for the morgue What’s happening to my body Politic Look people, this body politic was once young, strong, resilient It wasn’t perfect, and sometimes there was blood in our e. pluribus urine But now a steady diet of Fox and mountain bluebird Is rotting us, choking us, killing us We haven’t been eating our vegetables It’s suicide by Diet Cokes and Big Macs, Bigotry and greed, deception and misdirection We’ve got brain disease, senatorial septicemia We’ve got heart disease, coronary racism and arrythmia Who’s going to rush us to the ER? And what happens if I get pregnant?