Sitting on a worn wooden bench drinking
a sweaty beer in the late afternoon Caribbean sun,
eating my deluxe Johnny cake
not realizing there was no meat in the damn thing.

Watching a mangy tan mutt chase a skinny rooster
over the road kicking dust and feathers
into the air of the open diner.

Two young girls get off an old faded yellow school bus,
their smooth black skin
contrasting against the checkered green and white
of their catholic school uniforms,
stare and seductively smile at the leering younger sailors.

An old black man smiling through his rotten teeth
asks for a dollar.
When ignored he stares into space
and talks to his imaginary friend.

Rich white tourists walk around
like they own the place carrying their bags filled
with cheap treasures.

Desperate sailors looking for the
nearest whore or the cheapest rum.

At night the half-paved roads and ratty old buildings
of downtown busy with the locals,
some friendly some not.

Drinking with the island’s plumber,
who we were convinced was George Carlin,
telling us about his three houses back in the states
while pinching the ass of the waitress.

Later getting numb on the dark rum
bought for me by the first mate
on one of the rich yachts in the bay,
trying to kill the pain
in my head.

06/11/2003

Posted on 06/12/2003
Copyright © 2024 Derek Gregory