Poems
SONGS FOR A COLORED SINGER
I.
The time has come to call a halt;
and so it ends.
He's gone off with his other friends.
He needn't try to make amends,
'cause this occasion's all his fault.
Through rain and dark I see his face
He's drinking in the warm pink glow
across the street at Flossie's place,
to th'accompaniment of the piccolo.
The time has come to call a halt.
I met him walking with Varella
and hit .him twice with my umbrella.
Perhaps that occasion was my fault,
but the time has come to call a halt.
Go drink your wine and go get tight.
Let the piccolo play.
I'm sick of all your fussing anyway.
Now I'm pursuing my own way.
I'm leaving on the bus tonight.
Far down the highway wet and black
I'll ride and ride and not come back.
I'm going to go and take the bus
and find someone monogamous.
The time has come to call a halt.
I've borrowed fifteen dollars fare
and it will take me anywhere.
For this occasion's all his fault.
The time has come to call a halt.
