Scrubwoman Don't Talk
scrubwoman don’t talk
‘cept to poke holes
in the silence
but she screamin’
GET OUTA MY FACE
she dreamin’ sisters’ eyes are safe
& she ain’t scrubbed resilience out
not yet
she vow she ain’t never gonna work
on her knees ag’in
she dump Ajax, Windex, Mr. Clean &
everythin’ in a pail
swoosh it around real good &
dash it in The Man’s face
when she was a girl she hang the walls
with womanly wages &
maintain her sense o’ humor
when she was a girl she drag
every dark gypsy outa mama’s closet
turbans & scarves & glad rag sashes
gettin’ ready to start somethin’
she hook up with a woman
drummer makin’ ripples
swimmin where the river
bottoms out
she hook up with a woman
drummer makin’ sinuous
samba rise-up song
on a drowsy Monday mornin’
she hook up with a woman
drummer makin’ 3/4
African time
in the heartland
blood beat heavy in the backup
bringin’ the story home
& dreams are kinda queer
alchemies
anyhow:
maybe she make a sweet potato pie
for nobody but herself
maybe she tell that know-it-all preacherman
to bug off, she find her own spirit
maybe after the cop try to mess her ‘round
she go home and trash her jury summons
maybe she wrap her nappy hair in red & purple
& throw a brick through the beauty shop
she want quick black dykes in the street
she want lickety tongues under the moon
she want handmade silver-bangled earlobes in
her revolution, you dig?
&
who don’t love a good show
I mean who don’t
love a gooood show
-Bru Dye, from Amethyst, A Journal for Lesbians and Gay Men (1987)
