I Don’t Want To Work No Mo

I don’t want to work no mo’,

and that don’t make me lazy

‘cause I done licked

the boot and pulled 

up my straps for a

dolla’ seventy-five, 

but them rich folk

still stomped my 

head into the slush pile. 

I don’t want to work no mo’,

and that don’t make me lazy

‘cause the county building

got me and my house

splitting food stamps 

like Jesus split fish.

I don’t want to work no mo’,

and that don’t make me lazy

‘cause the healthcare people

said they don’t take my insurance. 

Bad teeth, bad brain, bad body. 

Pick the pain that hurts the most.

I don’t want to work no mo’, 

and that don’t make me lazy 

‘cause my ancestors didn’t 

build the world with hands like

Picasso to have America 

make a minstrel out of me. 

I don’t want to work no mo’,

and that don’t make me lazy

‘cause surviving ain’t living.

It’s almost like

 a second death—

and lord knows I can’t 

afford no funeral.

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An earlier, altered version of this poem appeared in The Foundationalist 7.1, viewable here: https://t.co/JcIXePm88t