A Juba for Janet
演唱：Anthony JosephThat dip Miss Janet dip down
Down in that dim roombulk of hip and learned us how
To dance the juba — the Belair — the limbo
And after thisMiss Janet felt faint
An' had to lie down lil' bit
Miss Janet as ErzulieSword in hand and weeping
For beauty and mortal life. Always this falling feeling
Then the sadness — of loss, then sorrow, then rain
Beating down upon the little two brick shelter she build on the hill. But still
Miss Janet breaking the yoke, seemingly unaware
Of her own mortality
Miss Janet nowin project apartments
On hot concrete and cracked paint. and Cousin Deborahwith the zodiac feltson her living room wall
These two women now wash awaymud from Jourvert morningLifting black wings and washing feet
Stooping to piss in the yard
Miss Janet as a revolutionist:she more dreader than them
No man could rule shemuch less even dreamto put hand on she.Bet you the old man down the range try and how he hold his face that day
— you eh findhe act strange?
He say, 'A-A, but look at Miss Janet two big son. But Janet, I never know you had big son so?' And he watch we. Root Strata. That was a dip
She dippeddown — as a warrior
What she give him to rub, he eat
Miss Janet chose pan men and wire benders
Auto mechanics and bull pullers,stevedores like Morgan, but then Morgan died. And the road so narrowand the hill so steepAnd the breezeblow sweet from the labasseand the sugar stink till it sweet
Miss Janet working in a fridge factoryand a piece of a crate wood jook she in she foot
Later that dark up Ramkissoon trace, she burns the splinter from skinwith a candle's blade.And years later
When the catheter cutwhen the wound can't sealand the stitch can't holdand the ward so fullof that burnt milk smell,this poem could only writea few lines each year.and still, never get the image right
And how come nobody could tell Miss Janetwhat really going on? How drown want to drown she. How her father done buy up liquor and salt biscuitin preparation
In the endthere is space.Spaceas wherewe once stoodin that airport mystery room Where they interrogateand un-wig and undress and un-breast Miss Janet
On the train, the trees of West Londonwere preoccupied
With the work of spring.Light, with the yellow bloomof a haiku, and of Cherry Blossom and of Sundayin Hornsey Peace Garden
Well, somebody here must know and care enoughto tell Miss Janetwhat really going on
Down in that dim roombulk of hip and learned us how
To dance the juba — the Belair — the limbo
And after thisMiss Janet felt faint
An' had to lie down lil' bit
Miss Janet as ErzulieSword in hand and weeping
For beauty and mortal life. Always this falling feeling
Then the sadness — of loss, then sorrow, then rain
Beating down upon the little two brick shelter she build on the hill. But still
Miss Janet breaking the yoke, seemingly unaware
Of her own mortality
Miss Janet nowin project apartments
On hot concrete and cracked paint. and Cousin Deborahwith the zodiac feltson her living room wall
These two women now wash awaymud from Jourvert morningLifting black wings and washing feet
Stooping to piss in the yard
Miss Janet as a revolutionist:she more dreader than them
No man could rule shemuch less even dreamto put hand on she.Bet you the old man down the range try and how he hold his face that day
— you eh findhe act strange?
He say, 'A-A, but look at Miss Janet two big son. But Janet, I never know you had big son so?' And he watch we. Root Strata. That was a dip
She dippeddown — as a warrior
What she give him to rub, he eat
Miss Janet chose pan men and wire benders
Auto mechanics and bull pullers,stevedores like Morgan, but then Morgan died. And the road so narrowand the hill so steepAnd the breezeblow sweet from the labasseand the sugar stink till it sweet
Miss Janet working in a fridge factoryand a piece of a crate wood jook she in she foot
Later that dark up Ramkissoon trace, she burns the splinter from skinwith a candle's blade.And years later
When the catheter cutwhen the wound can't sealand the stitch can't holdand the ward so fullof that burnt milk smell,this poem could only writea few lines each year.and still, never get the image right
And how come nobody could tell Miss Janetwhat really going on? How drown want to drown she. How her father done buy up liquor and salt biscuitin preparation
In the endthere is space.Spaceas wherewe once stoodin that airport mystery room Where they interrogateand un-wig and undress and un-breast Miss Janet
On the train, the trees of West Londonwere preoccupied
With the work of spring.Light, with the yellow bloomof a haiku, and of Cherry Blossom and of Sundayin Hornsey Peace Garden
Well, somebody here must know and care enoughto tell Miss Janetwhat really going on