MARTIN, RODNEY, STEPHEN, AND NOW DON.

A protest-hymn in the voice of Dion DiMucci presented in honor of NO KINGS DAY.

From:

Detritus Mal’Poetica.

A Council Column on Lyric Residue and Poetic Forensics

—Filed by Black Cloud, Chief Poetic Justice Warrior

“They say they’re marching again—this time under the banner NO KINGS.

I’m with them.

We’ve had our fill of crowns, halos, and brand names posing as deliverance.

Every one of my ‘Kings’—from the pulpit to the paperback to the prize-fight—spoke of peace, justice, entertainment, or enterprise, but left behind violence: in streets, in minds, in sentences, in rings.

No Kings, indeed.

Here’s the song.”

— Black Cloud

🎶🎶🎶

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin King?

Can you tell me where he’s gone?

He freed lotta people — the result was asphalt jungle.

I just looked around, and peace was gone.

Anybody here seen my old friend Rodney King?

Can you tell me where he gone?

He spreed lotta people — and they turned their home to dung;

I just looked around, and L.A.’s gone.

Anybody hear or seen my old friend Stephen King?

Can you tell me where he’s gone?

He freed lotta readers — to dream how the good die young

(in his novel Pet Sematary)

I just looked around — and he’s gone. [Cancelled. Remaindered.]

Anybody here seen my old friend Don King?

Can you tell me where he’s gone?

Promotin’ his chaos in the ring—

Like Martin, Rodney, Stephen, and now Don!

I just looked around and they gone.

Council Commentary by:

Look, I’m no poet. I don’t even like poetry unless it’s got a tune, a punchline. I especially don’t like the ones with a felony attached. But this one—this ain’t about rhyme. It’s about reckoning.

Black Cloud just walked straight into the “No Kings” protests and said what half the signs won’t: it ain’t just about one king. It’s about all of ‘em. Even the ones we were told to admire. Maybe especially those.

MLK talked peace, but his name gets marched under while windows get smashed. Rodney was just a cheat who got beat, but his name lit a match. Yeah, Whoopee ti yi yo, get along little doggie.
It’s your misfortune and none of my own.

Stephen scared on purpose—and many paid for the privilege. Don turned fists into fame. Every one of them a “King,” and every one ended up attached to chaos, directly or by echo.

It’s not slander—it’s a weather report.

You want no kings? Good. Neither do we. We’ve seen what happens when people get deified. They stop being people. They start being brands. Then the brands go boom.

This ain’t a parody. It’s a memorial.

Just don’t build the statue too soon.

—Vito Haeckeler, C-of-C-C Man-on-the-Street