Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman, <br />Some type of supernatural creature. <br />My mother would tell you, if she could, <br />About her life with my father, <br />A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman. <br />She would tell you about the choices <br />A young black woman faces. <br />Is falling in love with some man <br />A deal with the devil <br />In blue terms, the tongue we use <br />When we don't want nuance <br />To get in the way, <br />When we need to talk straight. <br />My mother chooses my father <br />After choosing a man <br />Who was, as we sing it, <br />Of no account. <br />This man made my father look good, <br />That's how bad it was. <br />He made my father seem like an island <br />In the middle of a stormy sea, <br />He made my father look like a rock. <br />And is the blues the moment you realize <br />You exist in a stacked deck, <br />You look in a mirror at your young face, <br />The face my sister carries, <br />And you know it's the only leverage <br />You've got. <br />Does this create a hurt that whispers <br />How you going to do? <br />Is the blues the moment <br />You shrug your shoulders <br />And agree, a girl without money <br />Is nothing, dust <br />To be pushed around by any old breeze. <br />Compared to this, <br />My father seems, briefly, <br />To be a fire escape. <br />This is the way the blues works <br />Its sorry wonders, <br />Makes trouble look like <br />A feather bed, <br />Makes the wrong man's kisses <br />A healing.<br /><br />Cornelius Eady<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-m-a-fool-to-love-you/
