Thursday, January 15, 2009

A Letter Written By A Poor A Black Man To His Mother

Dear Mama,

Gots to be bout hundred out on da farm. Sun be cookin like Aunt Bessie's corn bread on da Lord's day. Uhm Goodness. We be doin bout as good as fleas runnin up the stream wid da craw daddies. Ain't no ho daddy gonna spank my behind on down to da stream. Uhm Goodness.
Ole Leon Dempsey been stormin round like some kinda white devil. Boy got himself tangled up in da sticka bush. Uhm Goodness. Gots to bring it on down to da creek. Ain't got no water ain't got no soul. Shit, da man be runnin us up a rope. Bouts to be runnin dat rope some place else. Uhm Goodness.
Da woman be fussin bout nother little one. Says she ain't got no time for no more babies. "Woman," I says, "Don't be ridin no bus widout no paper in yo hand." Uhm Goodness. She know dat dis one mofo widout any sense anough to think twice. Mights got to run a cord upside dat bitches' head. Sorry Mama.
Crops be cummin long good. Melons be bout as ripe as I eva did see em. Ole farmer's son be smashin em up at night. Don't make no sense wastin good melon. If he was my boy, I'd beat him til da sun go down and up again. Uhm Goodness. Ain't much more to write about out here on da farm. Be keepin in touch. Uhm Goodness!

Love yo baby,
Reggie

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