| James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922. |
| |
| Tired |
| | | Fenton Johnson |
| |
| |
| I AM tired of work; I am tired of building up somebody else’s civilization. | |
| Let us take a rest, M’Lissy Jane. | |
| 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. | |
| You will let the old shanty go to rot, the white people’s clothes turn to dust, and the Calvary Baptist Church sink to the bottomless pit. | |
| 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. | 5 |
| Throw the children into 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. | |
| Pluck the stars out of the heavens. The stars mark our destiny. The stars marked my destiny. | |
| I am tired of civilization. | |
| |
|
|
|
