“Mom shot Dad.
She said, “Manny, you were my king, but three’s a crowd.”
I was born in the backwaters of Baton Rouge
with a long, gleaming silver spoon in my mouth
lifted from the service of the gov’ner of Louisiana
my Daddy, Manny T. Rhodes
Manny was gone.
Getting another medal from the Legionaires. (Fifth time this year).
A Cuban lover came knocking, he danced so smooth across my mama’s ballroom floor.
Foul thoughts, foul play, a greedy paramour.
“Mourning becomes her,” you heard them say.
Who wouldn’t want to play queen for a day
The first lady of Louisiana had the body tied down so it wouldn’t float
and moved in to her old man’s office on a sympathy vote
So far away, I know, dear little brother O.
I’ll miss you so
But there at least I can cry in the sunshine of Riobamba
no New Orleans paparazzi creeping about
I’ll SMS you once from Texas and once from Ecuador.
We’ll make a plan when things cool out for old Mom and her Havana paramour.

© 2002 voLsap Music, Amsterdam”