More than her pugnacious breasts
Or buttocks like grapefruits in hip pockets,
Men notice her hair first:
A great silken rope swinging to her waist 
They flounder for weapons
Against her strength
And hope one day to bring her down to their level;
To use her body to wipe their feet.
They find fault to lessen the terror.

Her grandmother married her to a man with 60 acres--
If a woman is a mule, let her at least be well off--
But she left him for another man.
You cain't get her with no fish sandwich.
He demanded that she hide her hair,
And when he died she let it down.
All the men came running--
Each one offering to make her a mule.
She preferred managing the store
To managing her respectability.

Until one day Tea Cake saunters in--
Camels and Courvoisier--
"Oooh! it's a lady!"
She comes home from the store,
Finding him on her porch with a string full of fish.
"Hey, sweet thang, 
Can I buy you a fish sandwich?"