Can’t Wash Dirt Away
by Nikki Dobbins
I was told to enter through the back door.
Reason—
My feet were dirty.
Majority of my money went to
Miss Janie Lothar’s for boarding.
A small room with one candle
And a knitted quilt. No bed.
So I had no change to spare in buying shoes.
I entered by one knock, a stern overlook, and a smirk.
Reason—
My shirt was dirty.
Miss Janie Lothar mentioned I couldn’t use her water,
In fear of turning it dark.
She said, “No mo“ bidness come in if you did, ya hear?”
So I wore the clothes I traveled in from
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to Austell, Georgia.
I walked in the restaurant behind
A big bald man chewing tobacco,
Who lead me to a dark corner.
Reason—
My reputation was dirty.
Miss Janie Lothar insisted I go to
The “Billy’s Pies” five miles up for food;
Because she don’t cook for everybody,
But “Billy’s Pies” was tolerant.
Sitting in the unlit corner
I asked big bald Billy the
Reason for the sectional seating.
“The reason? Reason is Son,
Ya skin dirty.
Ya hear? Ya blind?
Look der, see—
Can’t wash the dirt away. Never.”
