Francis Anthony Govia
Blue was the color of his socks the day she left home.
So blue under the Caribbean skies
He felt a breeze blowing
Through a hole in his heart.
He often looks up at the heavens
whenever someone asks how he’s been.
“Not bad,” he says. “It could be worst.”
You know how great life is when you come back
From rock bottom.
He spent most of his life cutting sugarcane in the fields
Until that became unprofitable:
The Government rushed to build hotels
And the economy tilted toward Tourism.
He learned to make money working in a bakery
When the crooks became empowered.
The bay is now lined with jewelry stores,
Duty free shops, and fancy restaurants.
A guy has a monkey on his shoulders whenever he greets
The tourists; and money flows under the table, between
Bags of weed, and via the gun.
A man sits with his back against a tree
And thinks of idle times when the stars hung low in the night.
He had a half finished 555 dangling through his fingers
And Carib on his breath.
The radio was playing a Calypso.
A young girl with hypnotic hips sashayed out the door with her suitcases.
“You should mend that hole in your sock,” she said. “I’m not