Fry Fish and Johnnycake
Marvin E. Williams
Tobacco pouch fingered free
of overalls’ pocket, snuff set
in brown gums, spittle
spat on ground, settle
under shady tamarind tree: The
old timer’s chuckles net
hearts like July’s rainwater:
Funny, Lawd tis funny
and a joke
the way this own-way
life does fool round and poke
fun at old people.
One day tis this, another
day tis that, and the next
day tis the tara.
But I ain’t vex.
Yes siree, man, I telling you. . .
tis a shame, a disgrace
the way thing what disown
does come back bold-face,
calling your name. You gotto
hide or play you always own
them. Cause they does use
brute force to get you on
their bandwagon. Chupse!
Remember when? Man,
you gotto remember
them days when these said
youth who don’t play to holler
black this, black that and
black the tara, used to fight
being catch living dead
black like tar or night.
White was the mark
that mind and mirror
used to search the dark
to fight and fight for.
Kinky hair used to get conck
their just whole head.
and had look pretty good.
Now that they does skank
and eat ital food,
conck hair getting curse
cause it mean abuse
of our African heritage.
Lately dark is the rage
and pickey head ain’t pickey
enough for these pickney.
Man, tis funny,
real funny and a joke
the way this own-way
life does fool round and poke
fun at old people.
Nowadays cat and dog
leaping like bullfrog
to be Crucian, West Indian
down to their bone. To try
getting one of these children
to eat anything but fry
fish and johnnycake, is trying
to get blood out rockstone.
Don’t fix them callaloo
Couple time a week
and they won’t speak
to you for a year. Do
give them maubi, ginger beer.
Ham and souse ain’t healthy
and a body what wealthy
does eat rice and peas
like sand in the West Indies.
Tis real funny
And a joke. . .
Then from no place come
these Rastamen with their dread-
locks of religion. I find some
got a lot to offer, but I dread
the vagabonds who take after
them in dress and talk. Hear me,
some Rastas don’t eat pig meat
and them vagabonds does beat
People up everywhere they walk,
calling your good English Yankee.
Man, if you use a small
piece of your God-given gall
to eat ham or pork chops,
they does box your behind
naming your belly swine. Buddy,
I ain’t playing serious:
these days being Yankee
or eating off his hog dangerous.
Watch me. . .the other day
at Mannings Bay
race track, this St. Thomian
man playing in Milo band
was eating stew pork with fungy,
and that bwoy Juba for Jenny
going come and knock the food
out the man hand, bawling
“Stay offa the swine.” Well,
the man wasn’t playing
so he rake and scrape
Juba up, pounding he good
till he broad face swell
and get purple like grape
in stateside wine.
Man, day in day out
I tired spout:
tis funny, Lawd
tis funny and a joke
the way this own-way life
does fool round and poke
fun at old people.
One day tis this, another
day tis that, and the next
day tis the tara.
Heaven know
these tradewind what blow
don’t get no rest; something
all-time press to desk
in them. I fraid for this crop
inhaling that new crap
what cracking and unknotting
But one thing I won’t trade
back to life before I dead:
Seeing these children parade
what belong to them
does set fire to my old heart;
and if I see them lose hope
thru some new or old dope,
disown their color to fall apart
from Africa like we again,
I couldn’t bear the pain:
Lawd knows it would kill me.
It would surely kill me.
Copyright © Marvin E. Williams