African American Poetry: A Digital Anthology

James D. Corrothers, "An Awful Problem Solved" (1903)

I. 

The city, Washington, D. C.,
That day wuz in its glory--
It 'peared like Paradise to me,
All beauteous spread before me:

II.

An' arter trampin' heaps an' heaps,
I see, to crown my joys,
Whar Uncle Sammy Yankee keeps
His school fer witty boys.

III

I rapped; Sam opened wide the door;
Invited me to come in.
Sez he: "In jest a minute more,
The boys'll be a-summin."

IV.

So, I goes in, an' takes a seat;
Thinks I: "How nice this place
An' ain't it promisin' to meet
So many bright young faces?"

V. 

I see two gents uv learned a'r 
A-workin' in the room thar';
S'I: "Uncle Sam, who be them thar? 
'Pears like I've seen 'em somewhar'"

VI.

"Them is our lecturers," he sez
"Renown men in our nation,
The great Professor Prejudice,
An' Dr. Degradation."

VII.

S'I: "Whut them tryin' to do?"
Sez Sam: "To settle whut they're'n doubt uv,
They're cuttin ' up a colored man,
To see whut he's made out uv.

VIII.

"The plain fact is, you see, my guest.
To-day our lesson figures
On workin' out the plan that's best
To elevate the niggers.

IX.

"An' soon's we find the difference
Between the black an' white men,
It's plain to see, by common sense,
That things 'll start off right then."

X.

"Yes, I'm convinced," sez Prejudice,
"That we'll the line discover
We'll strike it pretty soon, I guess;
Jest help me roll 'im over."

XI.

They found a heart, a brain, a soul—
P—- whispers, pale with wonder,
"D—-, ef this is the man we stole,
We're snowed completely under!"

XII.

"Lor', look!" sez Degradation," run
It's monstrously surprisin ',
But, arter all that has been done,
The nigger is a- risin'!"

XIII.

An' then, I swan, you orter seen
Them thar' two fellers hurry
Outen that school-room, lookin' mean
An' quarrelin' like ole fury.

XIV.

I watched 'em long, uz they ferlorn,
Fur down the road wuz goin';
An' then I woke, an' it wuz morn
The roosters wuz a-crowin'.

XV.

You see, I'd been nowhar' at all,
Except in bed, a-dreamin',
But still, I've let the story fall
Jest uz to me 't was seemin'.

XVI.

I never holds no malice 'g'in'
No one-one way ner 't other;
But still, it shorely ain't no sin
To dream an' tell it, brother.

Published in Colored American Magazine, November 1903
 

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