MONEY : SOMEBODY

 
                         

You’re rich, lady, hissed the young woman at

My mother as she bent in her garden.

Look at what you’ve got, and it was

Too much, the collards and tomatoes,

A man, however lousy, taking care

of the bills.


This was the reason for the early deaths

My mother was to find from that point on,

Turned dirt and the mock of roots,

Until finally, she gave her garden up.

You can’t have nothing, she tells us,

Is the motto of our neighborhood,

These modest houses

That won’t give an inch.