The Long Way Back

I haven’t a use for
your unwritten history,
the unspeakable oppressions
repressions
not with
so many chores needing doing. 

You come here
with a car salesman grin
a holier-than-thou high roller
to sell me on my ignorance

because what do I know about
or care about
the global class struggle
the monopoly of the rich? 

You said it yourself,
one oppressor’s
the same as the next:

         none of them put food on my table.

You got some nerve
to berate me. 

When you don’t give over
a thought to your old man,
as a proud a man
as any I ever knew,
yet he worked at
so many jobs beneath him

         for your sake.

I can’t even count
the nights and weekends I spent
without my husband
to put those syllables in your mouth.

He worked himself to the quick
died long before his time
for the education
you come back here
to throw in my face. 

You think it
soothes my heart
to see you spend money
like you discovered it,
trying to hide where
you came from with it? 

Should I also thank you,
         you stupid child,
for being ashamed of me?

Don’t you dare
stand there looking
like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth
and ask me why I’m upset. 

You think I don’t remember
you just yesterday
on the lap of Santa Clause
hollering for

some fool toy or another
that I begged him not to buy,
not to spoil you so,
and he did anyways,
because he was a soft touch?

Is it you think
being rural makes me a rube
for you to be coming around here
talking to me about

         crass ma-te-ri-a-lis-m

sounding out the syllables
like having only a high school education
makes me a moron
like I don’t read the paper or
watch the news
same as you

         or my disregard for the environment

when I’ve been working the land
with nothing but ancient machinery
and my bare hands
organic farming and growing
slow foods
for longer than you’ve been alive,

you and your
city slicker shoes
and big city dreams? 

When you never worked
an honest day in your life,
just different kinds
of pushing paper,
to be coming here
         talking about me killing trees? 

Get on with you,
thinking to come to my house
and condescend to me
on the eve
of Our Lord’s birth no less? 

You ain’t never

– and don’t give me that look,
I’ll ain’t all I like, still a free country
and my roof, last I checked –

you ain’t never
         gonna fool nobody into thinking
you came from anywhere else. 

They’ll smell the farm on you,
no matter how far you run
or how smart you talk. 

I’m happy in myself,
no need for you to
come around here
spreading your misery. 

No you may not
         get a word in edgewise
or sideways or any old way.

Child, there ain’t a man alive
I love enough
to tolerate disrespect from. 

You can just march yourself
back into that silly little car
and drive home

since being here’s
never been good enough
for you.