Pronounced Fantasy

A negro girl with skin As black as a psychic threat, And plentiful swells of blonde hair, Sat at a badly tuned piano And vanquished her fingers upon the keys. A midnight exultation Fastened itself on her face, Quivering over the shrouded prominence Of her lips and nose. Her dress was pink and short, And hung upon her tall, thin body, Like a lesson in buffoonery. She lectured her heart on the piano With violence of minor chords. Her voice was a prisoner Whose strong hands turned the bars of his cell Into musical strings. Wen' tuh Houston, tuh get mah trunk, Did'n get mah trunk, but ah got dam' drunk. Well, ahm satisfi-i-ied Cause ah gotta be-e-e-ee. The negro girl turned and cursed With religious incision At a parrot in a white spittoon. He pampered his derision While she played another tune. Then he saw her long blonde hair And paused in the midst of his squawk. II I found the negro girl Walking down a railroad track. The unconscious humour of sunlight Disputed the gloom of her skin. Her gray and dirty clothes Disgraced the haste of her body. Her feet and arms were bare And thin as sensual disappointments. An egg stood straight upon The blonde attention of her hair. The upturned remonstrance of her head Revealed her balancing effort. Lacking a more intense food She dined upon the air And sang with loosened despair. Gonna lay mah head right down upon dat- Down upon dat railroad track! Gonna rest mah head right down upon dat railroad track. An' wen the train goes by- 'm boy- Ahm gonna snatch it back. The negro girl received my gaze And broke it on her poignant face. 'Why do you carry the egg?' I said. 'If I could only hate it less I might break it, and undress,' She answered with motionless lips.