It was the mornin’
after
the night the Master
came,
dragged her to the empty cabin
once again
and,
once again,

he done it,

when

Tabatha went to John,
her raging Man,
not even husband,
but loved,
still,
through all this.

With her kiss
she whispered,

“John,
next time the masa’ take you to ‘lanta,
he in his big carriage,
you in the wagon,
you fill that wagon with whatever he buys,
but when he goes to the inn to sleep,

(or what ever,)

an’ leaves you to guard the wagon,
you wait a while.

Then you go find some
sickly whore
who’ll have you.
Pay her with the coins ‘masa
give you to buy yo’ suppa’.

Then you bring you
big black man
back home
to me.
An’ you give me the gif’
what she gaves you.
Next time ‘masa comes
for me,
I’ll pass it ‘long

to him.”

Five nights later,
after the master
come
in Tabatha,

there was great joy
and rejoicing
in the quarters.
Singing to Glory
for the
scurvy whore,
and
John
and
Tabatha,

who,

that night,

had set

some things

to right.