For you to lay back, to imagine
Benjamin Zephaniah painting his poems in the sand
Derek Walcott welcoming himself to his own door
That Mr Marley rumbling up the band
For you to extend your imaginary senses a little
Sultry sunrise cotton daybreak
Sweet potato, mango, fresh caught fish
Breakfast in between
Now you’re getting the taste, beginning to feel
The heat rippled skyline over wave breaks
Hand-gliding, water-sliding, rapidos rising
Beach bums, guitar strums, Indian summer
It’s not yet ten, in the morning that is
Tonight the moon will set real slow
The jazz boys brass will blow
Dances will be fast, as fast as lasers glow
Before that there will be oysters
As you look out over the bay
In musk bound, orange and yellow chiffon and taffeta
The boys with studded belts, with Cuban heels
So you take a cup of coffee
Draw on one more cigarette
You close your eyes so tightly
This morning moment, you simply shall not forget
PS
Up there in the mountains
There is another poet painting over us
Everyone who is anyone was his visitor
They would not, could not, let him be; oh let him be
