Sallly Hemmings In Paris Poem by David McLansky

Massa Jeff pulled at her dress,
She backed away with some distress,
Not wishing she no back-stair cow,
No garden whore that he could plow;
Not wishing she be birthing babies,
High color gals still borne slavies,
Not wishing she birth white toned sons,
The spawn of Massa having fun;
But he insisted in a corner,
He grabbed her hard, she limped a mourner,
Bent her over his writing desk,
Yanked and tore her new French dress;
And as he thrust and deeply plowed,
Taking what he was allowed,
She cursed the color of her skin,
Raped and forced to live in sin.