Outside Port-au-Prince by John Grey between heat and green cane, absent-minded slap of drummers, lip-cupped chant heaves on crush of brown sugar-candy in black teeth, fountain cry of naked babies, dust march of the donkies; break time... muscle rolls back down to waylay bone, pores suck back the sun-drenched sweat, red rum slips from note to note, shaking off Catholic dirges to sing strange orchised melody unknown to blood and wafer; lanquid puffs on cheap cigarettes border verses invented new and familiar as palm fronds, cool and natal as the distant sea; and chorus, crisp as feet dancing banana-figs to pulp, nimble as hands rethreading thatch walls, as the flirt of wind, the fetch of myth; song carries them so deep into their own pauses, there is no pause, outside this torrid day, no day. © 2003 by John Grey. All rights reserved. Home