The Saturdays of Showtime Clutch

Inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks…

The Saturdays of Showtime Clutch

The Beoncé look alikes of America bestowed this title.

This pho-bronze God is the Groupie’s Idle.

His head is hard before he rises

As he prepares for the days surprises.

Life is rough and times are tough

But Clutch,

Stays sharper than a frozen switchblade.

Off the set, before his presentation

He says, “My persuasion can rule the nation”

And what more can he do but procrastination

Before he steps on the stage of life?

Odd Pajamas…

His underwear screams violence

And his undershirt screams domestic violence.

With a scarf that can do what other rags can’t

Oh cast it off!

And he does for you, but as lazily as he put them on.

And behind his silly naked song

He secretly cannot shake the hurt from yesterday

He promised he would let go of tomorrow.

Today,

He’ll add to his collection and retaliate.

Verily, Verily I say

Hard headed boys

With focused obedient minds

Can’t get much of anything done when their imaginations lust for blood.

In the shower he is supple and anxious.

The hot water makes his blood boil.

The air is thick and wet.

He is thirsty.

Would you deny him lavender scented lotion?

Or re re-garnish his old spice?

K-Y not jelly?

Or what sweet scent would you substitute?

Scents make memories

And both performers and plundering pirates know

The best ones get you plenty of booty.

Tell me then, how would you spice up his life?

With Himlock?

With a lovely lye?

Or maybe with lemon pepper.

Or would you prefer a bitter salt?

Or slow molasses, syrup, honey

Or smooches “Gimmie some sugar!”

I’m sure he’s like that.

Maybe.

But you don’t know how his first love

Made her famous “potato salad and string beans”

Nor how to fix the hurt between them.

Instead you invest in culinary arts

that make you wanna slap your momma.

But no, he has no other love

A fan club, A number 1,

And no administrative positions available.

Application rejected.

Membership is now full.

We are looking to hire a candidate that isn’t you sweetie.

Unless you can walk hard

And break a diamond frozen in ice

With your thighs.

No, then thank you. I cum again

Please proceed to the back of the line.

And That’s showbiz.

Smart girls leave him to his lavender lotions

And baby oil.

But let’s explore

The mind of a Divo

With proclaimed swag statics.

The innards of his closet

Hold no gold, jewels, or costly array

Shirts that are worn alone on his

Long, intellectual,

Contemplative walks

Say “I’m with stupid.”

Here is the empty space

Where his belts should be.

Spectators are guaranteed

To see his lower cleavage.

And he is optimistic

About free drinks.

People are so in need;

In need of help.

People want so much

That they just don’t know.

In his world are beautiful buildings.

Homes adorned with silk and satin

With starving families inside.

Cars with $40,000 rims

And not a drop of gas in the tank.

And In public he asks girls their ages

Because names will change

Bet pretty legs won’t.

He often longs to forget his ancestry.

Never truly knowing where he came from.

Never wanting to.

Afraid of the hurt his people endured

And bitter with the images of impossible revenge.

He runs and pretends

The brown fellow next to him is not

His brother from another mother.

When he very well may be

For all he knows.

He often says the “N” word

But he’s careful not to invoke stereotypes

No watermelon.

No fried chicken.

No Kool-Aid.

And definitely no menthol cigarettes.

None of that nigger food for me!

You are what you eat after all.

Tonight he’ll bring home that red bone gal.

The lovely Mari Onette

To play with her strings.

            “Dance for me sweet thing. Let me undress you…talk dirty to you...or nicely.  Whatever you play. Once I know my script, the one that fits you, I can play. I can be your hero baby. Open your legs and you’ll swear I love you. But that’s what I do. I’m clutch baby. And after the act when I close my curtain and kick you out of the theater you’ll be back in line. Insisting the show must go on…”