Danny’s Draft For The Op Page Of The New York Sunday Times
Hasidim brought the building my mother has lived in before
Richard M Nixon had to move out of The White House because of the spooky break-in
at The Watergate Hotel.
Because my mother has mental health issues, she was excited
like a little girl at Christmas when she was offered 500 dollars to move out. I
wonder if the Indians that sold Manhattan for 24 dollars and trinkets were this
overjoyed. Mommy, 500 dollars can’t move you halfway across the street to the
Ortiz Funeral Home. Not that I’m asking for more green to bury us all. All of
sudden, Hasidim surrounded me in the courtyard like a kosher version of The
Matrix! They kept adding $ to $ until the offer stood at 5000 dollars. They
were unnerving me like a geek inventor in The Shark Tank where Mr. Wonderful
looks like Mr. Burns meets the emperor from Star Wars.
Well, I have bad news for those on the dark side of
capitalism. Money means nothing to me. Mom means everything. She worked in a
pencil and pen factory and still had time to draw me a smile. I know how to use a crayon like light swords
on Sand People. Tremble as I jump into cyber drive and cut them down with
freedom of speech until shouts of NO MAS and OY VEY is heard beyond the borders
of The South Bronx where I carried Ann Frank in my arms and a cowboy from Death
Valley Days rode into our town in his new role as President of the USA. Can
Alex Trebek name him in a second on Jeopardy?
How about you? I imagine for some Americans history is a
waste of time travel.
Ever since I was a boy, I’ve learned to play dumb because of
Mission: Impossible.
It’s time to light the fuse. But, please, call this The
Bronx Identity.
I will bring this fight to their doorsteps so fast and
furious intelligence agencies will try to recruit me for the war against
terror. They don’t know me but know this: I have certain skills and BLAH! BLAH!
BLAH! I’m deadly with documents, pictures of broken apartment and AUDIO
recordings. Read me loud and clear? Now brace for impact.
5 million dollars can be made in a lawsuit against the
landlords that, in their defense, are better humans than the previous owners:
Soprano stereotypes doused the roof with gasoline but, in the act of arson for
profit, were arrested by Angels in God Blessed Blue.
The Force was with us summoned by mechanical telepathy
called telephone.
Hey, maybe I can move my mother into Colin Powell Towers in
The South Bronx.
We’ll be moving right up like The Jeffersons on CBS and
welcome home, sweet home.
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks
By Danny ‘IMF’ Aponte of Public School 161
The South Bronx, USA
New Future Weapon sung by Billy Idol
Artwork, collage and hot text by Daniel Angel Aponte
Copyrighted 2014
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