by Ernie McCray
I will forever remember
Kamala Harris
walking into a presidential debate space
at a nice snappy pace
with the most beautiful smile on her face
extending her hand
as she looked at what was to become her prey
directly in his face,
taking control, from the beginning,
of the whole damn place –
and I was suddenly
about as happy as anybody
could be
because what this woman was doing
and every move she made
from that moment on
was just how I had pictured the contest to be.
I mean, I knew Donald J.
was going to be way out of his league,
that his vocabulary would be much too weak
for a Soul Sistah.
He’s got a lame “Yo Mama” kind of game,
putting people down,
jerking them around,
calling them names.
Homegirl, on the other hand,
hails from streets
where “Yo Mama” began,
where it’s ingrained in the culture,
a centerpiece of “The Dozens,”
an art form
of rhythm and rhyme,
a precursor of
rap and hip-hop,
music and verse
that cover the Earth
She was raised in a climate
in which one learns
how to relate,
how to get at the heart of things,
how to roll with punches
and zings,
how to survive
and, as she showed in the debate,
how to run rings
around a fool
who wants to become king,
a man half stepping in his routine
with no air beneath his wings,
a pitiful human being
who offers nothing of worth
to any one
at any time.
Kamala exposed him for all the world to see
making it clear
that she can lead our country
with both joy and dignity,
that she can stand up
to any tyrant
who might be a danger to our will
to exist as a democracy.
A Soul Sistah Put That Dude in His Place.
And I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
Go sister- soul sister- go!