those folks hired white help,
maybe a Mex to tend to the yards
but they let old lady Latty wash
their soiled sheets, bath towels
and undergarments

they sent out their fine clothes
for that new process called dry cleaning,
a magic Latty would never fathom--how
you gonna clean anything without water
steaming, lye and labor of love

but Latty knew those folks
whose ****-stained drawers
she was scrubbing had more secrets
than money, and she knew to keep
lips God gave her closed

for nobody need know about
the joy juice that was on the sheets
when the man of the house was
gone, and the towels covered
with the seed part of that

weren't none of Latty's business
what sins were seeping under the
cracks of those fine wood doors, or
what other rich as Croesus gents were
walking softly on the polished floors

Latty was off Mondays, but
not on the Sabbath, for it was
often the eve of that holy day
when the most soiling was done
and that didn't bother her none

for Sundays the folks was mostly
gone to church, and whatever sinning
was to be had took its rest like the Lord did,
unless sitting in a pew with a man
you never loved counts as such

Tulsa, 1908

SMASH*
SPLATTER*

Cries

At this moment I'm so happy and content;
as a sleepy kitten lying on a window seat,
purring, purring, purring and dreaming,
perhaps dreaming of warm sweet cream,
and chasing ***** of grandmother's yarn

Is there no one else
Who can match my revision
Or best me in combat
And wars of attrition
Waged on blank pages
Engaged against foes
Of the lewd and loquacious
A ****** of crows
To poetry ravens
Of my nevermore
The ink that I bleed
Oozes out from each pore
And spills to the floor
With each succubus kiss
I will drip from your lips
On the tips of your tongues
Are my Dracula trips
Which mirror the words
Of my undying curse
A lifeless reflection
Of my multiverse
Forever condemned
To a coffin of night
Painstaking my heart
With each word that I write