Miss Ebony Ankledancer
A Meal Best Savored Cold
It must have seemed good sense to drain the swamps,
The marshes, sloughs, and other secret places.
For surely they appeared to be land wasted
On snakes, sawgrass, and other useless things.
They would have missed the wonders hidden there,
The rich detritus feeding tiny creatures
Who became meals themselves to feed the larger
Creatures who were surely of no value.
How would they know the secrets of the wetlands?
Why, even if the people there had told them
What did they know, those bands of ragged stragglers,
All fugitives, and ignorant of progress?
Thus, everglades and swamps made way for suburbs,
canals, toll roads and malls, airports and farmland.
Now all must vie for water become precious
Where once it seemed that it was beyond plenty.
Professors prowl remains of once great systems,
Describing remnants in scholastic volumes,
While Seminoles and Miccosukees fatten
Off gambling, booze and cigarettes for tourists.
Ah, sweet, subtle revenge.
It Isn’t Easy Bein’ Black
It isn’t easy bein’ black
And that is just a natural fact.
‘Cause blackness makes you stand right out.
In any crowd there’ll be a shout
“There’s one!” and then you’re chased, no doubt.
Why, you would think that we was cursed
Back in th’ Garden, given first
Blackness, so some of the others
‘Stead of treatin’ us as brothers
Would kill us if they had their druthers.
An’ then there’s all them other folks
Callin’ names, and makin’ jokes
Claimin’ that we’re baby eaters,
Common thieves, communal breeders
An’ them gray ones is th’ leaders
Chasin’ us from place to place
Never givin’ us no space
And claimin’ that it’s justified
By “public safety.” Why they’ve tried
To claim it’s ’cause they’ve got “Gray Pride!”
Well, sure, there’s others that they hunt
But it’s us blacks as get the brunt.
It seems we’ve got some special place
Inside th’ hate glands of that race.
Ain’t no way they’ll give up the chase.
I hear some want to stop the talk,
(It’s usually some redneck hawk)
And end it with a big todo
That settles things, and yet it’s true
They’re quicker’n us, and meaner, too!
I can’t see any end to it.
Th’ blacks and grays will never fit
This world in peace. There’ll always be
Th’ ones who chase, and them that flee –
Th’ Mockin’birds, and Crows like me.
Stupid Duck
This Mallard hen built a nest in
My flower bed at work.
She poked around for days
My flower bed at work.
She poked around for days
Finally started building
Lined it with feathers
And laid seven eggs
Then she wandered off with her drake and left it
To the gentle care of several Grackles
Who seemed partial to duck-egg sitting.
Pretty stupid of that duck
To build a nest, lay eggs
And then leave them for the grackles
But I can’t help thinking
If they’re so stupid
How come we have so many ducks?
Meteorology Lesson
Well, I could spin you tales of troughs aloft
How masses move between the poles and doldrums
Regale you with the intricacies of
The Polar High, La Niña and El Niño
Oh, you’d be fascinated by the way
The air flows along isobar and boundary
And how the cold fronts form when air slides under
The humid masses moving from the tropics
Or we could step outside and close our eyes
And be the wind
Tropical Delights
Oh no! My God! Is that a bug?
A lizard scoots across the rug
And panicked snowbirds get the spray
Or call the bug-man up and say
I need you here! Right now! Today!
Let’s face it, Florida’s in the Topics.
And, since we’re talking climate topics,
Great for snakes and frogs as well,
And ants whose bites will make you swell,
With weather patterns straight from Hell.
These go with warmth, and sun, and rain
And all the reasons that you came
To join us in the Land of Flowers
And while away your Senior hours
Whining about our Summer showers.
So why pay for this pestilence?
Good cash for misery makes no sense,
So (if I may close with a groaner)
I’m sure that there’s a sub-prime loaner
Who’ll help you move to Arizoner.
Flights of Fancy
I’d love to write a poem about the air,
About the thrills and freedom that I found
Those many thousand feet above the ground
Away from Earth, and all my troubles there.
But how can I do justice to a thought
St. Exupery, and John McGee and those
Like Gann and Yeats, in poetry and prose
Pursued as well, and well and truly caught?
What do I have to say – another guy
Who left his heart up somewhere in the clouds,
Long earthen-bound, who simply longs to fly
Again?
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