art by Michele Maule | Etsy Shop | Facebook | Twitter
PopMaster Fabel Saves The Jam
The whole block was present reppin’ their crew. A tribal council of brown folk. Speakers beatin. We rallied like warriors around electric drums. Little kids tryin to hang. Askin questions. Quick feet, sparks in their eyes. Harlem was on fire and we had the gas. It was goin down.
Until the police came
“Go home. Too loud. We’ll lock you up.”
Then, all of a sudden, out of the fog came Fable and it was like the whole world froze. Mad whispers took over like faint scratches from the DJ. But there was no more music.
His hair was full under a cap turned crown. Red tee. Puerto Rico on his skin. Planted in ADIDAS flowers. He stood there still. Loud and silent like a bombed wall. We all waited. An explosion ticks away. Behind him was Harlem. Spanish and burnin to feel freedom. Fable was no different.
The cop looked at him like he was crazy.
With no music, Fable popped into his electric boogie. We all watched with quiet smirks glidin over our faces. A bashful laugh. A lost officer. Then the kids caught his pulse and started copyin him. The whole jam is dancin in silence to a beat we felt and owned. See the Po’ didn’t know we was locked up already. Now we were exercising our right to remain silent.
Speechless, he got in his squad car
and faded away.