Once I led
an anti war protest
down the
streets of Baltimore
I guess that's the day
I became a whore
the cause was good
but the feeling of power
went straight to my curly head

My English teacher
Professor Collins
a Tidewater gentleman
of taste and bourbon breeding
teeming with ideas
a scholar
who liked my comments in class
but believed I should study more
yes, he spoke the truth
and he always wore
sunglasses, dark grey shades,
outside as
well as indoor
and sported a modified Beatle
haircut, straight black hair
combed over and
parted on the side
and clad
often in a
seersucker jacket

So the Professor
dubbed me for
this noble chore
they gave me
a bull horn
and set me up
front
pointed me
in a direction
towards the Chesapeake Bay
and the rest
as they say
is history
as we marched
down the street
i found that the
bull horn was
quite neat
i could ramble a riff
and people would
cheer
make a political statement
against our foes
and cause them to jeer
intoxicated with this power
we marched on
until a policeman halted
our progress in order
to let traffic flow

Then
one student ran up to me
and told me that an
FBI agent was lodged
in a warehouse nearby
and I must do something
because the man is a spy
taking our pictures
for J Edgar Hoover and
that they'd be used for no good
that we would be on a list
what to do? what to do?
clasping the bull horn
I called through the air
to the invisible threat
armed at least
with a camera and a notebook
and a trenchcoat hat that he wore
"come down" i exhorted
"leave these innocents
alone" "we don't mind
your grey suit and
shiny black shoes"
"just come down and
stop your lackey work,
what are you some kind
of jerk, to take our photos
for protesting is our right,
and the government is trying
to put an end to the wrong fight"

"Abandon the military industrial
complex for just 30 seconds
come down and join us
and show your real worth
we will accept you in our
ranks, no questions about
your past will be asked"

Well, that's what I came up
with, and it seemed to satisfy
the crowd,
meanwhile in
the time we were halted
a young woman with a rainbow
bandana on her head,
her long auburn braids draping her
shoulders,
in a peasant blouse with crisscross
drawstrings,
and enchanting emerald eyes
came up to me
with a request that
was quite a surprise
and asked
if she could read my
hand, yes, to read the
lines. I extended my palm
I thought that this was
an enticing dividend
being endowed with groupies
all for standing
at the head
of this band.

Soon we were given the okay
to move forward once again
and continued our march
against the war in Vietnam...

the apache kid