Tattle-Tale Riot 
for Sylvia Plath 

A kick come back 
on a Ku Klux Klan cadence-- 

a little pale-robed 
brainwashed baby 

that will cry in prejudice 
Prejudice against being born 

Why let it cry? 
Better let it die, dry. 

she's lying in labor, labor, labor 
reading graffiti on the ceiling 

She's soiled her soul 
and splintered her spirit 

Tears flow slow, tired of falling 
Screeches shriek of leaks and freaks 

Why let her cry? 
Better let her die, dry-- 

That man, black man who 
punished her, bad child 

Kicked her for ten years 
till his foot dropped off 

Ten years later, foot renewed 
Ach, du, she was eschewed. 

He broke her open and 
hit her with a stick 

And every little puppy dog 
shall have every little bit.