A Poem by Nadine Waltman-Harmon

A Matter of Maturity

 

Mama hinted ‘bout salesmen,

     gigolos ‘n foreigners,

     but I was eighteen

     then an’ Mama never expected me

     to leave Washington County.

 

Mama had read ‘bout big

     city life an’ slick-talkin’,

     fast-movin’ city men.

     Maybe my Mama

     had met a few. But if Mama

     had seen that Galla salesman—

     fat, fawnin’ and fortyish—

     she’d have said, “Mercy!

     Lord! Protect my child!”

                                  

If Mama had seen his white Fiat

     and knew about his big

     city life she would

     have prayed harder for her child.

 

I wish Mama had told me there

     could be a no-good man

     who’d smile an’ sweet talk

     a woman while they

     were smilin’ an’ sweet talkin’

     some other women

     whose Mamas had never

     told them that once they got wise

     an’ kicked the bum out

     they’d spend nights wonderin’

     if the phone would ring

     an’ that no-good man

     would be on the line sayin’,

     “I still love you.”

 

It took me a year to see

     that he was a user, a no-good

     man that danced

     with and sweet-talked other women.

                                

He was always wheelin’ an’ dealin’

     an’ tryin’ to get money

     from everybody.  Once,

     he asked a woman,

     who had more money

     than youth, for twenty thousand

     and, within five minutes,

     sweet talked her

     into bringin’ his sistah to America!

                            

I packed his clothes, set

     them in the hall

     and, within the hour,

     he’d sweet-talked some woman

     and had an apartment and a car!

 

That night Mama came to me

     in a dream.  I heard

     my Mama say, “Lord,

     have Mercy on my child.

     That man’s a no-good

     piece of baggage, child,

     driftin’ on your shoreline,

     jus’ usin’ everyone, not sharin’

     real emotion, jes’ steppin’

     on people.  He’s jes’ a no-good

     salesman; a no-good gigolo.

     Forget him, child.”

 

That night I packed my bags

     an’ took off for Oregon

     and rented a flat

     without a telephone

     so I wouldn’t be listenin’

     for its ring and the sound

     of his voice sayin’,

     “I still love you.”

 

 

 

Nadine Waltman-Harmon is a retired teacher (42 years) who grew up in northeastern Oklahoma.  In the l960's she taught African teachers in Tanzania, East Africa Nadine lives in a log house in the  Pacific Northwest with her cat, Mama Chai.