Oh Me Oh My

A reading  from the book of  Willie Maxwell 679:1738 ...    then Rap Gawd formed a man from the dust of the auto-tune &breathed into his nostrils the breath of Rémy Martin the man became Fetty Wap. Rap Gawd saw fit to make Fetty a counterpart. so he caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; while he was sleeping he took one of the man’s eyes then closed up the place with flesh. then the Rap Gawd made a woman from the eye he had taken out of the man. the creation story of Fetty the first trap rapper to make a song I might play at my wedding. there’s a choir of church mothers smiling down on the brown boy that sings of a woman’s worth in a culture destined to nullify it. do you know how long sisters been waiting for a brother to willingly let us hit the bando? (after patiently explaining what the fuck that means.) l’union fait la force your music emblematic of the motto of Haiti unity makes strength as we scream SQUAAADDDD! the weight of that bass hits hard like Gawd’s tears landing on glow in the dark floors ’cause Gawd does not just “cry” He makes it rain on a crowd of women in heels higher than most GPAs dancing their way through nursing school &out of some deadbeat’s roach-filled 1 bedroom. the fellas big brother arm-wrapped shoulders singing off-key about Ki’s &pies and other shit they have no real idea about. the only song in the club that allows a hetero male to gaze into the eyes of another [suspected] hetero male and/or stranger singing his fucking heart out. make him more mathematician than murderer spewing lyrics repping the urban district’s finest cognac this is a black man’s “Sweet Caroline” oh, oh, oh! Fetty, you got me — I, too, see heaven peering through the pearly-gated smile of that gap-toothed princess in your video. I, too, have a glock in my rari — in the form of a master’s degree but don’t get it twisted this summa cum laude bloaw anytime a motherfucker think they know me! &my trap look a lot like a dimly-lit cafe with semicold red stripes a microphone a couple judges but I’ll be damned if anyone tell me I ain’t a queen of this shit. &then I blink &the bass subsides &the song fades into another brother caring more about his golden grill than making the best of a family business. &she picks up her ass her purse slides off the pole disappears into a mixture of low-budget smoke machines &catcalling men wedding bands tangled in the drawstring of their sweats &another Saturday twerks itself into the crisp breeze of Sunday morning &the church mothers glance over the room covered in government-issued confetti &Gawd smiles as they bellow in unison “I want you to be mine again!”