the newspaper reports

about the r & b mega superstar

somewhere in his home

near the catskills

not the home in detroit

he shares with his wife and four children

but the home

with the four hundred thousand dollar recording studio

and the jacuzzi that waterfalls into a granite pool

the home with the gucci rug and armani linen

with the indoor nba regulation-sized basketball court

the home where he can

make love on marble tile

and scrutinize his performance

from one of his twenty-four concealed cameras

while somewhere a cd of his voice

echoing the theme from his latest concert

in calgary provides the soundtrack

as he urinates on the faces of two fourteen-year-old girls

after anal intercourse he spills his semen

into their mouths like a rupturing volcano

and then lovingly he begs each girl to swallow

he drives the girls back

to an undisclosed location

near a bus stop or a shopping mall

where he offers each

two hundred dollars in five dollar bills

tickets to his concert

and a backstage pass

the woman on the bus behind me

peers over my shoulder to read the article

out loud

“humph!” she sighs,

“that’s a damn shame

railroading that young brother

we black women always airing our dirty laundry

we got to raise our daughters better than that

at my church

we sing that boy’s song during communion

last sunday after the first refrain

bout three sinners converted

so don’t tell me

he ain’t been touched by god

that boy got to have some good in him

everybody got some inkling of good

by the way you ever really listened to his lyrics

you ever really looked at a fourteen- year-old’s body

they so overdeveloped these days

got fuller figures than most women my age 

he just a man and we all know

the nature of men

remember jim baker


woody allen

remember sodom and gomorrah

remember lot and his daughters

so what if he did what they claim

them reports don’t mean nothing

every saint know what it feels like to be a sinner