She was BIG and pregnant,
pleasantly plump.
She ran a bath,
in that claw-foot tub
and quickly sunk,
beneath the bubbles,
her belly stood up.
With an angelic voice
she began to sing:
“Momma’s little baby
loves shortnin’ shortnin’ . . .
momma’s little baby
loves shortnin’ bread.”
We never dreamed,
in all the dreams we dreamed,
that momma’s little baby,
would be born dead.