Whally Ite

by m.s.wardrip

Whally! What she do?

Dis Miss Ite, from Buffalou,

Cans she whistle, dance and sing?

Can’t she thread a bobbin’ machine?

She be paintin’ up trunks and desks,

Coloured dots from Africa and all the rest,

Best is de blue back book box ends,

Mit de unusual ruby’s emerald crown nested in.

She sing the fiddle and swing da voice,

Every Friday when they say she has to,

But in de parking lot she cuss about the fuss,

She jus wanna fling de bling and sing about de grass.

Whally is blue and it’s not right,

Tis’ and awful mess for sister Mrs Ite,

Blue de sea, yellow de sand,

Green Willow statues painted they stand.

Truly and best is de home in the nest,

A singer, a paint flinger and a tricycle rider,

A coffee can, some grounds, orange peels,

Popcorn burnt seeds, wet cigarette butts, rust.

We can’t even imagine the complex planning,

The airduct perfect dampening,

We laugh at her shell and well, hell,

We don’t see the Whally Ite until we see her art.