Heat in Birmingham, Alabama
A subject much chatted on by folks
Mirages on thea black chalk pavement;
they look like ol' deep wata' puddles
But they aint no wata' hea'
It aint rain for days, cuz aint
no cloud get mean enough ta
send us a washin'
They ain't no wata hea'
we aint been down to tha crick
fo' montes'; cuz aint no rain comin'
and tha riva been dried up fo dayz
They aint no wata hea'
no juicy red tummy-toes
uh blueberries in the brush
cuz all the cardinals dun eat 'em up
an' they aint no wata from
the well, cuz we all too darn
lazy ta do much anuthing
in this dad burn heat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem