Summary: American poetry.<br> ⁓The Voice before the Void<br> “Tired”<br> Fenton Johnson<br> I am tired of work; I am tired of building up somebody else’s civilization.<br> Let us take a rest, M’lissy Jane.<br> I will go down to the Last Chance Saloon, drink a gallon or two of gin, shoot a game or two of dice and sleep the rest of the night on one of Mike’s barrels.<br> You will let the old shanty go to rot, the white people’s clothes turn to dust, and the Cavalry Baptist Church sink to the bottomless pit.<br> You will spend your days forgetting you married me and your nights hunting the warm gin Mike serves the ladies in the rear of the Last Chance Saloon.<br> Throw the children in the river; civilization has given us too many. It is better to die than it is to grow up and find out that you are colored.<br> Pluck the stars out of the heavens. The stars mark our destiny. The stars marked my destiny.<br> I am tired of civilization.<br>
