Three Poems by Arthur Pfister aka Professor Arturo FAKE -went into a record store (if they’re still called dat) and asked if there were any Hugh Masekela in stock… and the dreadlocked salesperson with the “I LOVE AFRICA” T-shirt and the red-black-green beads ‘round his neck didn’t know who I was talkin’ ‘bout… Arthur Pfister aka Professor Arturo June 27, 2012 © All Rights Reserved MOTTO (to Langston Hughes) If you can dig it     you can dig it If you cain’t     you cain’t… ‘Cause if you with it        you is with it If you ain’t     you ain’t… Arthur Pfister aka Professor Arturo July 2012 Stamford, CT THE LIFE, LOVES AND LEGEND OF MARIE LAVEAU (September 10, 1801 – June 16, 1881) Some say she came from heaven (some say from down below) but I’ma give the four eleven ‘bout Marie Laveau… From Baton Rouge to Baltimore they all knew her name From the swamps to the boardrooms they whisper her fame She burned exotic incense, wore the prettiest pearls She was the envy of the women and the idol of girls Her head was wrapped in scarlet; her lips were like red wine Her eyes outshined the stars ‘cause she was so fine  She was sweet like cherry chocolates; they say she tasted like candy and had skin like golden velvet that weakened many a dandy   She knew so many secrets that put the match to the flame and had a beauty so rare -- put Cleopatra to shame She made ‘Lisbeth look like Twiggy and Marilyn look like Moe Such a dark, comely beauty was Marie Laveau… She was a pure pound o’ flesh (not one wasted ounce) She was big where it mattered (and small where it counts) The gentlemen would smile and the ladies would frown when that fine, brown woman chanced to be around When she walked down the street every male head would turn Girlfriends and wives would do a sizzlin’ burn She’d make a strong man weak, a wise man dumb -make a quick man slow, make a goin’ man come She was exotic, hypnotic, an intoxicating beauty She took Jean Lafitte’s big barrel o’ booty She wrote books with a cat named Lemony Snicket waited in the midnight hour with the Wicked Pickett She knew Pussycat Nell, the harlot from hell  (You might notta met her, but you’d know the smell) She knew Frisco Jenny and Way Out Willy, Cherokee Bill, and a kid named Billy She knew Typhoid Mary and Sioux City Sue, Pussy Galore and Cat Ballou,    Boston Blackie and Alvarez Kelly, Sugarmouth Sam and a Bly named “Nelly” She was a right queenly woman and was impeccably clean She was a real fancy woman -- make a old man dream make a young man holler -- make a sad man laugh She took the Parish Sheriffs rod (and his deputy’s staff) The mens all loved her and they’d spend every dime They’d go away broke (but they’d come every time) She knew Amelia Bedilia and Montana Belle -kissed old Slim Greer on his way down to hell She was in the kitchen with Dinah, in the Gulf with Katrina The mens would woo her and wine her whenever they seen her She knew Rattlesnake Dick and Foo Manchu,    Big Harold Parker and Mr. Magoo She was a real fine dresser (wasn’t no slob) She’d open the bedroom door and turn that knob She made the Thin Man fat, the Tall Man short She made the vejjitibble man give up his cart She was sassy and spicy (like yo’ momma’ dirty rice) She’d take the flame outa fire and put yo’ soul on ice She knew Filthy Mcnasty and Iron Chest Charlie She cut rugs with Astaire, made music with Marley She danced by the waters with the spirits and saints with such pleasure and passion (weren’t no complaints) On St. John’s Eve she’d strut and sway all night And in Congo Square she would shake up a sight Dynamite Dick was her very best friend She might even squeeze a cherry every now and then She’d visit Parish Prison and bring the inmates some cookin’ They’d start up a riot (she was so good-lookin’) They’d didn’t mess with her ‘cause she was the boss and so many of them wanted to just sample her sauce She fixed that red gravy that made the mens love her It took 69 nights for them to recover Her potions and tonics would heal anything -- run away the winter and bring back the spring   She was the queen of New Orleans (both slave and free) and lauded by all despite the pedigree She’d conjure up memories from way ‘cross the seas cure the hottest fever with a cool, calming  breeze She tried to end executions in the Congo Square -didn’t think it was right to do such a thing there She knew rich folks’ secrets from all over town When the lies would arise she’d just shoot ‘em down She knew who shot the La-La and who killa the chief and who snatched the fruit from the mespileaf St. Louis # 1 is where she now sleeps But they say from the grave her soul often creeps So when folks in New Orleans tell of those long ago they still speak the legend of Marie Laveau… Arthur Pfister aka Professor ARTURO Sunday, August 19, 2012 10:47 PM © 2012 All Rights Reserved Stamford, CT

Arthur Pfister, a poet, fiction writer, Spoken Word artist, and educator, is a New Orleans native. He relocated to be near friends and family after Katrina and is currently an Instructor of English at Norwalk Community College in Norwalk, CT.