Wild Women (Poem)

They say that wild women don’t get the blues,

But any they who say ain’t never been woman nor wild.

Please. Wild women get the blues. They just don’t keep them bottled up inside. They ain’t never had to go inside themselves to find themselves only to come out someone else.

That’s why they talk back, talk smack, and if you act up they will cut you or tell you to hit the road, Jack.

They screech lelelelelelelelele, and hum hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm.


Is she crazy? Yup. Why not? Sometimes talking crazy is the only way to keep sane.

Wild young women, oh they wild. But watch out now, ‘cause them elder women, they be the wildest of all. Slip showing, wig hanging off to the side. And don’t care. Wild.

Them blues, for years, they been singing and shoutin’— ‘cause whine don’t get better with time.

As a young woman gets older and her voice starts to crack, does she stop? Hell no. She has the nerve to call in reinforcements, gathering more women to bring their ish to dish.

Oh and how they gather. They gather on Mondays, on Sundays, in cars, in bars and under the stars. They gather hems, they gather drawers, they gather friends, and sometimes even bras.

A wild woman will tell you: Don’t let nobody take away your joy, but sometimes you got to tell that heifer that she got to go. (Or at least to shut for a minute.)

Wild women don’t get the blues, puh-lease.

They be acting crazy and actin’ up. They gone sing their blues—over pink toenails and cocktails, over sunrises, over dinner, or over each other. (They some loud women.)

They suck their teeth, sigh and grunt, because somehow, no matter how much they cow her, joy keeps fighting her way back into their blues. Sometimes she’s the loudest; sometimes she’s off key. (What song is SHE singing?) But damn if she ain’t there in the midst of every single song. You can try singing louder if you want to. Elder women will tell you to forget it, they tried. Tried humming, tried singing, tried shouting. Heck they even tried just feeling the blues in their mind—and here she came again with her happy self. Don’t she ever shut up?

So please, it ain’t that that wild women don’t get the blues. Secret is,

Wild women know they need the blues. ‘Cause the sweetest sound is listening to joy hit that high note on




© Simone Monique Barnes, September 11, 2005

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