IN THE KITCHEN: From the American Folksong Suite

I like it when he comes in here, after supper,
when the washing up is mostly done
and I’m just mopping the table
and setting things to rights.
He sits on the flour barrel in the corner
and plays his music, and sings.
We don’t talk much.
I don’t suppose there would be trouble if we did–
who cares what an old Irishman
and an old woman like me do in our free time?
Mam said I was lucky to get this work,
but I think not lucky–I’m a good cook,
and they know it.  At least I got a couple things
out of the plantation–cooking, and my baby.
I’m glad she’s up north now.
It’s not safe here for a pretty girl like her,
and the lady of the house where she works
is teaching her to read in the evenings.
These railroad men don’t scare me:
I’ve seen it all.
I can take care of myself.
And he comes in to sing
just at the dangerous time of day,
looks after me, in a way,
always reminds me to bolt the door.

One comment on “IN THE KITCHEN: From the American Folksong Suite

  1. Mag says:

    I love your take on this … I’ve always a slightly different one 🙂 As always, thank you for sharing.

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