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Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy hands bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.
Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes clichéd by
Repetition. Her children, strangers
To childhood's toys, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.
Too fat to whore,
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for
Her portion.
'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'
Maya Angelou
Read poems about / on: childhood, work, children, people, child, dream
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7.6
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(111 votes) |
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Momma Welfare Roll by Maya Angelou)
Ruth Ngungi (11/21/2007 7:43:00 AM)
SOmehow for me, i feel this poem ends premature.....there is som uch i feel might have been in the mind that beings that first stanza. It touches me even as a woman, and somehow i feel this 'fat' woman had more to say......much more to say of her circumstances and attitudes that have shaped outy of her struggles....amazing piece. |
Steve Mcdonald (4/22/2007 9:21:00 PM)
Anybody could write 'one of mya's', celebrating the inprovident, incapable and slatternly. |
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