Reincarnalnation (poem)
mf poem


I don't deserve you. I've nothing to offer, save my poor verse:
Cheap rhymes, hobbling pitifully in six-five.
Words, filthy words strung together in a crippled time,
Limping along like the threadbare beggar,
Rattling his cup, welfared to the will of others.
But you -- your golden aura's a beacon of hope
To wretches scaling the twisted rungs of evolution
You've transcended. You've something vital to give!
And now, you are free, free from your husband.
You don't need me, either.
My dark Karma would dim your light. (She's buying it!)
Here, gaze into your New Age crystal gems
Upon a former life of yours truly.

Look! I was a house nigger on a Southern plantation,
Way back in the days of the War Between the States.
This was before racism became the loser's belief
It is today. I was a light-skinned half-breed.
No matter. Anyone who wasn't white was black
Back then. And white makes right in old Dixie.
Yours truly belonged to the mistress of the house --
You know what I'm saying? No? Your crystals, look:
Over here -- that's me, naked, by her upstairs bedroom window,
Watching master kiss mammy, watching the overseer,
Putting his back into another nigger whipping,
As mistress purrs and slurs words for her own slave's service.

Before the war began, her lingerie was Paris
Silk and satin, tight fancy corsets
With bright tassels that danced in the air like her cat-o'-nine-tails.
She cut out my tongue so I wouldn't tell the master,
As if I would talk. Hey, it probably beat picking cotton!
Now my mistress frays about the edges,
Both the war and the whisky have been hard on her. Me, too.
O! There's captain master, minus a leg, at the front walk.
I close the curtains, smiling. Who am I to talk?
She shackles my wrists. I cover her ears with my thighs,
And grin when captain master crutches in, and shoots me.
Frankly, darling, I still don't give a damn.