James Brown at the Boston Garden
dancing onstage, staccato hips
he shakes fast as if seizing
the crowd’s attention
not on the tension, not
the guns on stage right and there, left
in from the streets policemen come and here
they stand with him, all in their vested authority
and uniform they are scared to death
oh, this man with a microphone and oh,
that drummer is major tight, listen to that swing
listen!, you can hear
his sticks sound the gunshots unfired, the silence
all the way from Memphis, the hole there stays
a second then it’s swung closed with a snare offtime
Mr. Mayor give the man his sixty thousand
and go save your city, we just want to dance
here, not in those streets, go—
watch James go, he’s saving us all,
get on up and dance and see
that man feed us, hungry for the beat
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