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
clinton
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