Bamboozled; that’s the word.
Hoodwinked; that’s another
uttered from the mouth of
the poet who was talking about
the insight of her sons. The
point? Kids know when
they are being bamboozled
and hoodwinked. Maybe that’s
why Nones are growing in
number. The poet was intimat-
ing that there is much untruth
spun by Spin Doctors spinn-
ing, spinning, spinning. May-
be that’s why the professor
became a poet — a novelty,
an academic doctor who won’t
spin, a child of politicians,
supreme spinners, who refuses
to spin, a black female educator
who refuses to spin. She’s a
None, too, a non-spin doctor.
She’s a poet. Let us then re-
solve to celebrate poetry and
sing the rhymed, metered, free-
verse musical truth to the hearts
of each other. Maybe we will
embrace; maybe we will be
killed, but, at least, we won’t
be spin doctors, spinning,
spinning, spinning. She said,
“You don’t make any money from 
it; you don’t need any money
from it.”