Don’t Make Me Go Momma!
Oh, I loathed passing the house on the corner of the street.
It was like a punishment when two little girls I’d meet.
They’d call me names and spit at me as I was passing by.
Out came the words & the tongues and always made me cry.
To get to the store, you had to pass right by their dreadful house.
Sometimes I would tiptoe, being quiet as a mouse.
Don’t make me go to the store Momma, ask Gary to go instead.
My brother wasn’t afraid of them no matter what they said.
I used to dream their tongues got stuck, upon their iron fence.
But if they fell out all together it would probably make more sense.
Please don’t make me go Momma, I would humbly cry.
With a pat on the head, out the door I’d go, hoping to sneak by.
However, they always saw me, screamed and called me names.
They never played with other kids, not jacks or other games.
They only had each other; what a sad twosome they made.
It took me years to see that, and for all those names to fade.
Written by,
Bonnie May
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wonderful poem and picture Bonnie...
John
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