Bye Louisville.

What did you ever do

with that Bingham fountain?

I’ll never forget when y’all tried

to blame that accident on the

worker who sank the Belle.

You only like that boat when

you use her in pictures, to lure

people here for your big party.

And you know what Louisville?

Look what we can do …

we still don’t have a citizen’s

review board, and your boys

in blue need a lesson on

what you are using as

an excuse …

Compassionate city?

Give me a break!

And let me tell you a story!

Once I was just a little boy,

sitting under the Thinker

statue … worried to death

that my Mom and her friends

were going to get arrested –

because they had occupied

the Dean’s office. Me and

that thinker guy had a lot

in common that day. He was

frustrated and alone, I was

listening to everyone call

my mom … a loser!

But we won that fight!

Even the security guard

gave up to our side

when we shut down the

information station!

He told the CJ, that

he was not working,

on Papa’s farm no

more and was going to

protest with us!

And I am sorry Louisville …

but I stopped going to your

big fireworks party when you

turned it into a big commercial

for whatever war, we were in.

I’ve talked to some UPS workers

and sometimes, they wish those

cool planes would crash into

the Ohio River.

And hey babe, Louisville, you

sure look good draped in those

fine French clothes, but York and

Sacagawea are my heroes.

Lewis and Clark were employed

by a government that was looking

to do the same thing you did with

your parks.

Once, black people

weren’t allowed in Cherokee!

You’re never going to live that down!

Now, your Boone hero stands

erect, with gun, at the entrance.

Too bad the 74’ tornado didn’t lift

that perversion and take it away.

And let me tell you one more story!

When Muhammad Ali died, I was

moved to tears when they stopped

on I 64 and my Belle gave her whistle

salute! She was all steamed up and

singing the old man river

blues to her native son, who had

been treated just like her, by a city

who really only likes her …

when she

makes money! SMH …

So, see ya’ later, babe! My home

is not across the Blue Ridge

Mountains! I am doing what

those Kentuckians did when

people got too close. It’s time

for me to leave.

I’ll never forget …

when I was a kid,

playing in the

spray pool,

and somebody

wrote,

 “no niggers“

on the roof

at George Rodgers

Clark Park.

That was my front yard!

I can still smell the walnuts

on my fingers as me and my

friends built forts

in her woods

.

We were playing in the waters

that the so-called founding

fathers drank! The capillaries

of the Bear-Grass that you shit in!

And yes, that is a shame!

That creek runs in my veins

and I still can hear all

of Audubon’s birds!

You don’t want to know

what they told me about you!

But now, I am leaving

with a heavy heart

and a worried mind!

So, let me set the record

straight …

There is a tree in that park …

And if you ever cut her down,

I am going to come back and

tan your hide.

I spread my mother’s ashes there.

My mother’s ghost haunts

that park, just like the

Indian stories haunt that

majestic tree, see …

Once upon a time,

an Indian woman

was dying. Her husband

had been shot by one

of your buddies, and she

sat in that park, holding

her baby, grieving!

She cried so much

that her tears watered

that tree and it grew up

around her! And to this

day, you can still hear her

and her baby crying when

put your ear to the

trunk.

And you and your buddies …

still don’t get it! The ghosts

dance in that park, and I,

used to roam that place at

night! They told me all your

deepest dark secrets.

They told me Shawnee,

Chickasaw, Seneca and Slave

stories.

And I danced with

them under your pink,

hot steamy summer

polluted skies.

so, buy Louisville!

Keep it local

and weird …

 

I’m sick of

your bullshit.

Love,

John Paul.

P.S.

When Mark Anthony

Mulligan dies,

it’s gonna be your

fault, not mine! He

loves you more

that I.

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