the FEROCITY

It does no good to write autobiographical fiction cause the minute the book hits the stand here comes your mama screamin how could you and sighin death where is thy sting and she snatches you up out your bed to grill you about what was going down back there in Brooklyn when she was working three jobs and trying to improve the quality of your life and come to find on page 42 that you were messin around with that nasty boy up the block and breaks into sobs and quite naturally your family strolls in all sleepy-eyed to catch the floor show at 5:00am and but as far your mama is concerned, it is nineteen-forty-and-something and you ain’t too grown to have your ass whipped.

from Gorilla, My Love by Toni Cade Bambara