change is rarely one-directional. |
I haven’t a use for your unwritten history, the unspeakable oppressions repressions not with so many chores needing doing. You come here with a car salesman grin a holier-than-thou high roller to sell me on my ignorance because what do I know about or care about the global class struggle the monopoly of the rich? You said it yourself, one oppressor’s the same as the next: none of them put food on my table. You got some nerve to berate me. When you don’t give over a thought to your old man, as a proud a man as any I ever knew, yet he worked at so many jobs beneath him for your sake. I can’t even count the nights and weekends I spent without my husband to put those syllables in your mouth. He worked himself to the quick died long before his time for the education you come back here to throw in my face. You think it soothes my heart to see you spend money like you discovered it, trying to hide where you came from with it? Should I also thank you, you stupid child, for being ashamed of me? Don’t you dare stand there looking like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth and ask me why I’m upset. You think I don’t remember you just yesterday on the lap of Santa Clause hollering for some fool toy or another that I begged him not to buy, not to spoil you so, and he did anyways, because he was a soft touch? Is it you think being rural makes me a rube for you to be coming around here talking to me about crass ma-te-ri-a-lis-m sounding out the syllables like having only a high school education makes me a moron like I don’t read the paper or watch the news same as you or my disregard for the environment when I’ve been working the land with nothing but ancient machinery and my bare hands organic farming and growing slow foods for longer than you’ve been alive, you and your city slicker shoes and big city dreams? When you never worked an honest day in your life, just different kinds of pushing paper, to be coming here talking about me killing trees? Get on with you, thinking to come to my house and condescend to me on the eve of Our Lord’s birth no less? You ain’t never – and don’t give me that look, I’ll ain’t all I like, still a free country and my roof, last I checked – you ain’t never gonna fool nobody into thinking you came from anywhere else. They’ll smell the farm on you, no matter how far you run or how smart you talk. I’m happy in myself, no need for you to come around here spreading your misery. No you may not get a word in edgewise or sideways or any old way. Child, there ain’t a man alive I love enough to tolerate disrespect from. You can just march yourself back into that silly little car and drive home since being here’s never been good enough for you. |