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Big Poppa E


4 in the morning.


The city sleeps,

snoring soft and silent,

except for one man,

Big Poppa E,

slam poet superhero,

he’s still up and he’s anxious,

walking his nightly beat,

seeking new crimes to fight,

and new poems to write.


And with his super enhanced sense of smell-

he smells something-

wrong in the air-

the scent of pancakes and injustice,

a taint of queso and greed,

something has gone horribly wrong-

at Kerbey Lane.


So he signals his sidekick cat familiars,

Aretha and Thelonious,

and calls out,

“Make haste to the eatery!”

Then he leaps onto their backs,

and rides them like a pair of roller skates

as they dash down 38 and a half street.


BPE arrives at the diner,

dismounts, and instantly assesses the situation:

9 Terrorists have taken over the restaurant and are holding 52 hostages,

including the Armenian ambassador to Sudan.

The terrorists planted plastic explosives in an air conditioning duct leading to the kitchen, approximately 10 paces from the right side of the back wall.

They want to trade the hostages for safe passage to Mexico.


The FBI has the place locked up tight,

so their playing along with the terrorists game,

for now,

but Eirik can tell that Agent Sylvester has a hair trigger on the mission’s kill switch,

and at any moment he might snap and signal the snipers to start shooting.


And the FBI doesn’t know about the bomb!


Our hero has to act fast,

so he grabs a megaphone from a bald cop, turns it up, and yells:


“My name is Big Poppa E,

and I’ve got this under control,

everybody chill the fuck out!”


Then he strolls through the diner’s front door,

and real smoothlike,

has a calm conversation with the terrorists,

plays some jazz, does a quick poetry set, raps a little,

and convinces them to give up, turn themselves in,

AND to buy his best-of-book,

except for one particularly big, burly and crazy terrorist,

whom Big Poppa E had to grin down,

just like Davy Crocket grinned down that ba’r,

only Big Poppa E grinned the terrorist down so hard, he nearly killed him,

but he didn’t,

because that would have upset the negotiations at a particularly sensitive time.


So anyways,

the FBI take the terrorists away,

the hostages are set free,

and BPE disarms the bomb while writing a haiku.


On his way out,

he stops for a plate of migas,

and the hostesses phone number.


Then he hops on his cats,

and rides off into the sunset,

vowing to return only when needed,

but this city never sleeps,

and we’ll always need our hero,

so I hope this poem is a spotlight signal

that helps to guide him home.


(c) Copyright 2008, Daniel Strack

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