In a Manner of Speaking

by LOUISE ELLYSON

WHEN I’m in the North
No moth
Is more silent than I.
In New York
I balk
At arousing hilarity
Over disparity
Of speech when I’ve something to buy.

Since people smile
When I speak of my child
And nearly retch
If I say I’ve a t rain to catch,
I reckon I’m right smart
Not to open my mouth
When I’m out of the South,

But remember this,
Hear?
My life would be gayer
If you weren’t so hell-bent
On correcting my accent.

So will you all please
Not tease?