Skin Teeth

One good Friday night I come home-

tired bad-and I can't find me children

or me husband. The house quiet like somebody dead.

I call up he best friend. He say the children

wid the woman up the road, but he don't know where

they father be.

Or maybe he just don't want to tell me.

So I jump in me car and drive up Monkey Hill.

I gon catch him, the bastard. I park behind he jeep

and take me blessed time an let the air

out of one-two-three tires.

Then I walk in the stupid lickle rum shop

as if is me who lay down the foundation

and is me who pay the rent. And I see him

holding some girl hand. Laughing like the world can't end.

As soon as the little squeng see me

she up like she ready for war.

But I is a big woman-can't bodda fight

wid pickney who don't understand what is mine is mine,

I smile broad wid alla them.

Then I pour he drink over he head, an tell him never

leave me children with nobody again.