Life on the south shaw

Life on the south shaw

ca. 1979

Ya raccent’s weehd. Ya brotha’s weehd. A you weehd?
Ya rolda brotha’s wicked fuckin weehd.

Yaw from heah? Ya don’t sound like yaw from heah.
Ya brotha’s fuckin retahded. Ya brotha’s queea.

I heud ya wicked smaht. A you a lezzie?
I heud ya rinta aht an shit. A you a druggie?

Somebody told me yaw ra haw. A you a haw?
What a ya lookin at me like that faw?

Ya don’t hafta get mad. Wheah’s ya sense a yuma?
Ya rotha brotha, he’s awright. He’s pissa.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What's the point of this blog?

I was going through my old poems the other day and I thought this would be a good place to keep the ones I still like. That way they won't die on my hard drive with me. I hope the others do. I've revised some that were previously published. The Trump years were clarifying for me. I've spent the last few years obsessively volunteering, trying to help salvage what's left of our democracy. My taste has changed.
Read more

Demeter

Demeter Listen to your barren fields. The dust is whispering: Until my daughter rises, there will be no spring. Your olive trees will bear no fruit, no lark or thrush will sing. Until my daughter rises, there will be no spring. Your sun will rise each morning a useless, hollow thing. Until my daughter rises, there will be no spring.
Read more

Horseshoe crab

Horseshoe crab Ten eyes, ten legs, a carapace, a lip, and something like a face, knuckled-headed, spiky stoic patented in the Paleozoic, mustered by the moon above to storm this little beach for love, who says your tried and true design is any less evolved than mine?
Read more