Hellfighters On Parade Poem by Alfred B. Spellman

so there's the 15th heavyfoot regiment band
the harlem hellfighters, james reese europe
director, tuning up. they got a french horn
choir & enough trumpets & t'bones to call down
the saints. hell, they got marimbaphones &
double b-flat helicons; they got all the brass
you can mass on the grass. they got bill robinson
for drum major so you know they can kick
& they're looking good: knickers creased
to the side & tight wrapped leggings
boots got more sparkle than glass
croix de guerre ribbons puff their chests

they form. on europe's cue they rag How
Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down On The Farm
After They've Seen Paree in a shim sham shimmy
kinda march that j.p. sousa never heard of
the hellfighters blow their way up fifth avenue
& the ticker tape snows down &
the white folks' cheers lift the clouds

you'd've thought to see it that america'd changed

but proud picture postcards from dixie
still hit new york of 'nigger barbecues'
autos-da-fé of black heroes from the war
ruined by the taste of honor, who walked as
the hellfighters walk, too proud to live, staked
& burning, their complaining wives & sisters too
before those awful deadpanned faces
slow cameras caught. 'close the school jeb
the kids need to see this. they're running
an extra train from atlanta so i'll make sandwiches
& lemonade to sell to the tourists &
for god's sake pick up the trash. we want
the town to look good for all the dignitaries'

so on the march uptown europe broods
through the throb of his fiery corns
just whose hell did we fight anyway?

but now at lenox avenue in sweet harlem
the music hits the sidewalk & explodes
bold & living, tangible, its own force in the world
it springs the heels of fine brown ladies
who pump the mana into the sound, the hot afflatus
of the rising home. 'jangles, legs no longer weary
stretting like a guinea fowl in estrus, his kick
gone higher in a cakewalk with the sisters
& spatted swells flush with the pride of renewal
the mighty doughboys are again the darktown
strutters. call the tune, professor europe

'well, hit it boys: Here Comes Your Daddy Now
sweet mama, Here Comes Your Daddy Now'