Hark, hark them dawgs did bark, the circus been in town...oh wait...you couldn’t hear them bark. Police sirens been screaming up and down the road, piercing like countryside-women voices when they quarrelling on neighbours or fambly. Normally, you can hear Zackie, Auntie H. dawg, hollering when a siren wail. Zackie does shet he eyes, raise he head, put he mouth in a’ O and howwwl. Couldn’t hear he last week. Them sirens, two, three, four, been screaming all at once.
Most times, when a police siren howl, I does think, Hmmm, police fetching he wife or gyalfriend to the market to buy she greens. (Look, I ain’t saying that is a fact, I just saying I does think it. Blame the ex-cop who did tell me). Last week though, them sirens wail and wail because the Free Lunch Circus been in town. I don’t know if the police was transporting them performers from the Free Lunch Building to hotels, to-and-fro or what.
As for the media...don’t know what it is about them and politicians...some media folks can proper wag and wiggle with excitement, trying to cosy up to men with power.
What a la-la.
Every year is the exact-same show. One year me Jamaican gal-pal email me from she island: CARICOM is having a meeting here. The media excitement is disgusting. CARICOM is just a free lunch.
Last week, I ketch a glimpse of them performers here on tee vee, Caribbean leaders in shine suits, none in rags, bursting at the seams with pomposity. I ain’t bother to listen. They does regurgitate talk from the previous year. We must integrate or perish.
Before I switch channels, I notice a couple o’ them did look sleepy. Must be because we the hospitable people of Guyana feed them ‘til their belly-skin get so tight, it pull down their eyelids.
They certainly didn’t look hungry. Some o’ them proper look pregnant.
Maybe they need to fast a little, do a li’l Ramadan time, to understand hunger, urgency, and need for action, instead of sitting around the ol’ pot, promising a wicked Caribbean soup full o’ tasty, chunky things like regional integration, skills and goods sharing. The pot must be empty. Because, up to this day, we the ordinary citizens of the Caribbean Community can’t get a whiff of this meal.
Must be a watery alphabet soup from a can that they making.
Early in the 2000’s, one young Caribbean leader, new to the scene, did try to change the recipe. He say, It is time to stop the talk; now we must act. I bet resentment did stew up in some o’ them grey heads.
The other day I say to my mother, Humph, they keep talking about performance and acting together, I bet if they had to ketch each other on a trapeze, they would let each other fall.