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May
Day
by
Pam Spence
She wanted a boy, I was a girl,
A breech birth, a seeming breach
Of contract. The year was 1957,
A year when no one was
Misbehaving, except the leather-backs
And me in hospital linen.
It
was a time of God, of Elvis
Shaking his pelvis on stage
While I rocked and rolled
My baby cage. I wanted what
I wanted, and what I wanted
Was a bottle. Back then babies
Couldn't
breastfeed undaunted.
Mother resisted, but took time
Off from the factory
And let my sister name me
After a black girl
On Uncle Orie.
His
show was famous,
I was flattered,
Mother was nervous
The K-K-K would discover
I was the namesake of a Negro.
Mother and I have survived
Many
labors since that first one
In May. The conflict rages on, like
Conservatives debating liberals.
As tradition would have it,
Mother has the final say,
But come every May, I have my day.
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