20 July 2007

Raised On Chitlins ‘N Greens

No-one yet compared me
with that poet they call Don,
least ways some say it ain’t
a wrong thing to do that,
others just add a second ‘n’,
say leave him right alone
‘cause he’s done gone to
bat beyond our league.

I’ll not complain about the
few who say I write alright –
the few I always read before
I hit the hay each night. They
say I got a turn of word
sweeter ‘n turkey giblets
‘n cranberry sauce. Now
that’s right nice ‘cause

I ain’t got many words
to call my own. All I got
is praise our teacher
gave ‘n lovin’ words you’d
call encouragement
from parents guessin’
I’d prob’ly make a better
poet than a turkey thief.

It is with some relief
I learned they meant
that as a joke; back then
the game of chicken
raisin’ was lower’n you
should get. Least I took it
serious and learned real
fast to write these poems.

Now I got respect and
know a bunch o’ folks
who’s just like me.
Y’ see, it comes from
posting poems on World
Wide Web – it means
you find the level of
your own ability.

I ain’t got reason to aspire
to be another Don, I read
his stuff and found it
fine as any I’ve seen –
but y’know, enjambments
ain’t your kinda game
if you’re raised on
chitlins ‘n greens.
© 7 July 2007, I.D. Carswell