Humble Mouths

Raw Perspectives! Wordplay from active minds and humble mouths.

Mí Papá, Roy

Old man, old man
Why you became a fisherman?

Fish do run from menacing hooks,
Dressed pretty in appetizing worms… look!
Old man reach back with pounds and pounds of Yellow Tail, Old Wife, King Fish, Grouper, Shellfish, and an occasional wondering Barracuda for keepsake.
Rum knows no mistakes, island folk knows nothing of sweepstakes… except for, we never win.
I could never keep up being one of the youngest; couldn’t grasp the task of crab pots and fish traps,
Every time I think I’m sober over home I find an even better reason to relapse.

Old man, old man
Why you love construction so man?

Bulldozers and dynamite makes havoc on predestined habitable reservations,
Built the house I grew up in and excavated most of the island I grew up on… made those simple walls of a home feel like a castle.
Made those ragged streets feel like superhighways and less of a pothole hassle.
Apostles of carib carbon, I lined the premises well with ganja clouds in adolescence,
Making truth of mainland stereotypes.
Tentative touches to the probability you built to withstand more hurricanes while savoring the memories of mí mama cleaning fish old man.
This old man, he built heights,
baco and traco developments into new city lights…

Old man, old man
Never wanted to be an army man.

My tails of setting sails on most of the seven seas gave you reference to your own military memory.
We can talk for hours old man, sea stories…
Exploits and explorations,
Children from a different land, distant generations part of a unsure federation.
The navy wouldn’t take you and the army barely loved you.
Black man of a dissimilar era with comparable restraints of the segregated today too.

Old man, old man
I love you old man.
Old man, old man
We love you old man.

Nicest old man I ever knew admittedly with bias and love.
All your grandchildren love your last name deeply,
We wear it like badges of honor, dawn it like a reputation proud yet humbly,
Even the mix of us who are dubbed differently all agree to be the lot of the Potter family.
Potters, shottas annually. Building roofs for our offspring in a different manner than you did.
Same reasons in mind, with the essences you left in mind.
I still tell people your Ford truck must’ve ran 8 million miles before it died.
Though I never tell them anything but it was all metal, rather than it died.
Family gathering at your place, 8 dozen smiles.
The argument ensues, who amongst the lot of us looks the most like you?
Nobody wanted to look like their grandmother.
Couldn’t tell Tronn he wasn’t in first place!
Kuba got it too, cubs of your pride Mr. Patriarch Lion and if mama will allow it we all look just like you.
Can see your elements in so many faces.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen you angry,
Not since ’96,
Maybe ’95.
I been owing you a drink now I’ll drink to our times.

Old man, mí papà, grandfather
We love you

In every loving constant, Rest In Love…


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One thought on “Mí Papá, Roy

  1. What a love! Expressed from the heart.

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