I sit in my box awaiting return of my peculiar but caged birds aren’t singing Maya and there is no cow near the moon.

Hey diddle diddle is the song for fools, and Jack ran away from Jill leaving her with three babies cause he didn’t believe in birth control.
Jill has a new man named John and the confused children cry for daddy, any daddy who will protect and love them.

Mama’s brand new bag is the same old one looking for someone else to assume her responsibilities as she now awaits the arrival of baby number four.
And prostitution is redefined as those who bring children into the world for whom they have little care, and loving is out of the question.

So they confirm Fanon’s theory about multiplication of the wretched and we looking through a glass darkly no longer ponder about misery but search for a way to contain it.
Boxed in a package called Trojans we pray that they don’t multiply.
Knowing all the while that ours is a futile prayer until they discover that Madonna is still Black, Beautiful, and should learn to love herself.