Downhill after dark we took our nightly showers  

Under the standpipe, dodging the cars light,

It was fun in those days, the life of the poor black child

The countryside, but the sweetest thing to remember,

Roast breadfruit, roast flying fish, roast corns,

It was fun in those days, for the life of the poor, young villagers

in today world it called Backyard Barbecuing with friends,  

when we did it was called poor people way of cooking, and celebrating.

So often now and then,  

it's good to go back in time

And relived, those awkward and happy moments

Only thing I detest was loading the sugarcane

On my head and going up the ladder,

The white man reap all the sweet

The black man bake under the sun.



Last month I sat in the most expensive Restaurant

And eat, lobster, drank expensive bottle of wine

I wouldn’t reveal the cost of the meal,

But, I always knew, that one day, this would

Have happen, from roast fish, on the hill of Prout Hill

To Washington DC exquisite night restaurant. MI*VIDA

And yes I made all of this happened:

(In memory of Glen Slater)

Ya stupid sonuvabitch, the place is deserted!
It’s gotta be a ******’ night game, ya ******’ mook,
But though the parking lot had the forlorn look
Of a down-on-its luck strip mall on a weekday afternoon,
There was just the hint of activity and indeed a game,
A friends-and-family affair with the Cubs,
Losers if not particularly lovable,
So we departed the ancient Gremlin
(Ostensibly painted cab-yellow,
Though festooned with enough Bondo and duct tape
To make it difficult to tell
Where car began and slapdash repair ended)
Strolling toward the deserted ticket window
To drop the two-bucks per for upper deck seats,
Knowing that we would find amenable ushers
Willing to let us move down to the boxes
After it became fully apparent
There was no last-minute influx scrambling off the 7 train,
And we sat in the sun-drenched field level seats
(Though its warmth a relative thing,
The rays’ angle and the decidedly April wind
Requiring buttons to be snapped
And collars to be turned upward)
Viewing the spectacle of two clubs
Dutifully and somewhat optimistically
Performing the rites of Spring, each nine knowing
There would be no October heroics in their futures,
Their first-rate plays and foibles
Gathering our appreciation or scorn
Between gulps of over-priced watery beers,
And as we sat in this unlovely stadium,
Looking for all the world
Like some Bunyan-esque chipped ashtray
Plopped down on an unprepossessing landfill
(The hopes and wistful dreams of this children’s game
Perched uneasily atop ancient sardine tins and discarded rattles)
We agreed that we would do this again,
But it never came to pass, as life its ownself
Rolled on like the cap of John Pacella
(Invariably flying off his unruly mop
From the effort of launching yet another fastball
In the all-too-vain hope it would find itself
Somewhere in the vicinity of the strike zone)
Tumbling brim over crown in the swirl of the breeze.

We communicated more in silence than we ever did with words
She spoke with her eyes
I conversed via my heart
Right then I realized that this was the start of something special....

Brown eyes that loved without a trace of fear,
Under my blue mask eyes that
hate without a trace of kindness:

The last time I think of death and breath
In the same sentence: was on an Easter Sunday
And on that day when I saw videos clip over and over of a
Public assassination, a lynching in the year 2020

As humans beings we all need oxygen to live,
Never take it for granted, we need to breath
Same as for the fishes in the ocean they
Need, oxygen too, to survive,

My poems need a wider audience to get
The essence across, demographically
More than a public assassination
My faithful followers is the essence of my poetry/

If I say that they can heal the world in seven days
In the mind of my reader, they will
Probably asked, who does she think she is (God?)

You see the divine is the vaccine, the healer,
I need more time to write, the poems /
That will heal this world, my poems bring
Emotional connection to one’s inner thoughts:

Seeing someone taking them last breath is peaceful
They chest goes up and then down,
slowly with a goodbye
My father was singing, one of Fat Domino
Favorite song, then he slowly closed his eyes:

According to reliable source my x husband,
also struggle to breathe before he took his last  breathe

My gold fish just float to the top of the tank.
The last time I think of death and breath
In the same sentence: was on an Easter Sunday
And twenty minutes ago, before I compose this piece