There Is Something About Poverty That Smells

The Sun, The Hero Of Every Day, The Impersonal Old Man That Beams As Brightly On Death As On Birth, Came Up Every Morning.

She Stood There Until Something Fell Off The Shelf Inside Her. Then She Went Inside There To See What It Was. It Was Her Image Of Jody Tumbled Down And Shattered. But Looking At It She Saw That It Never Was The Flesh And Blood Figure Of Her Dreams. Just Something She Had Grabbed Up To Drape Her Dreams Over.

So Janie Waited A Bloom Time, And A Green Time And An Orange Time.

Honey, De White Man Is De Ruler Of Everything As Fur As Ah Been Able Tuh Find Out. Maybe It's Some Place Way Off In De Ocean Where De Black Man Is In Power, But We Don't Know Nothin' But What We See.

Among The Thousand White Persons, I Am A Dark Rock Surged Upon, And Overswept.