Little Black Sambo
Li'l Abner Yokum
Little Red Riding Hood
Little Miss Muffet
Little Nemo
Little Toot
Little Eva
No longer little --
though still undeniably black --
and eschewing the moniker 'Sambo,'
believing it wack,
Sam is now Abul-qasim Abwan,
after turning his back
on McComb, Mississippi
and heading for Basra, Iraq.
No longer 'Li'l' --
although growing disturbingly vocal
in his rants against use
of the libelous epithet 'yokel' --
Abner's shutter'd his shack
and resign'd from the bed testers local.
(Will such turnabouts alter him...?
Betcha a week in New Yo'k'll.)
Grown, although still looking chic
in her signature hood,
Red no longer haunts Grandmama's Forest,
nor feels that she should.
"I'm so finished with canines 'n' crones, now.
Is that understood...?"
rages Red as she shoulders her basket.
"I'm leaving for good."
Grown, though still prone
to evade ev'ry maid-stalking spider,
Muff's now ask'd a famed arachnologist colleague
to guide her.
From their cheese curd and whey food truck,
marketing crab-apple cider,
they report that no insect of any ilk
even has eyed her.
No longer little,
nor keen on some Slumberland visit,
preferring Las Vegas
(which sure ain't no Slumberland, is it...?),
our Nemo now wanders the Strip ev'ry night,
while in lieu
of pajamas he sports used fatigues --
and a pith helmet, too.
No longer little
nor up to his old full-time duty,
and ignoring his fellow tugs'
use of the moniker 'Toot,' he,
as "Captain N. Route,"
ferries immigrants here to the States,
N. Route so-o-o-o-o Emma Lazarus loves.
(Stephen Miller he hates.)
With Uncle Tom granted
his freedom at last, and she grown,
Eva leaves the plantation
to live in Atlanta, alone.
Selling paperback Bibles,
she does fairly well on her own,
till last May when she dies,
having choked on a porbeagle bone.
