Fear those who speak
With a smile that cuts from cheek to cheek,
Across the face who sleeks
Without a flinch in their grammar;
Those who think monolingual,
On stage — Fear. Fear to hear them:
That’s quite unusual.
That ain’t usual — one’s grammar stutters,
Facial muscles recoil. Smiles don’t come easy
Without a knife and a foil.
Moustache, manhood and an unlimpy
Ridgid stick: where does this compound take us, now,
Caressing us with lick. Fear — Fear makes the press release,
Read like the papers. Pickwick.
If a man moves a stadium with his rock
And if his ID doesn’t say that he picks,
Fear him; fear his tunes,
For those melodies stir our memories
And our memories are not pleasant
For us — educated peasants
And uneducated ones
Meditating with guns.
They listen.We do not hear.
They fret.They do not fear.I am here.
If you want me as dear.