You Can’t Judge a Woman By Her Whorish Qualities
She’s just stepping out ‘cause Wade’s upstate in Pittsburgh,
And Carl’s doing the usual Saturday night routine,
As a guitarman wails loud and slow
About good times gone bad and men laid low.
Edna smells like yesterday’s sex,
But Carl’s been working in the foundry for 37 years
And most vapors escape his notice.
Edna’s not one of them thick-legged bitches.
She’s worn out, used up, and collects Aunt Jemima dolls.
Carl wears a polyester Johnny Reb cap.
He bought it on his one and only trip South in 1985,
Down at Boone Hall Plantation, near Charleston,
Where admission is charged to view
The forsaken land and paths through the past…
And lunch is served in the overseer’s cabin
Transformed by plastic and painted-over wood.
Where they serve quiches, BLT’s and progress
Charging inflated prices for half-assed goods.
Selling, by the thousands, those Tawainese Aunt Jemimas
With red-checkered bandannas, laughing faces, and slightly slanted eyes.
And the South succeeds at last
In clutching the Yankee dollar,
Amid forgotten fields of sea island cotton
And long-grain rice swept up by the price of manual labor.
