Colonization in Reverse

Or English girl eats her first mango...

(a kind of love poem by John Agard)

If I did tell she
hold this gold
of sundizzy
tonguelicking juicy
mouthwater flow
ripe with love
from the tropics

she woulda tell me
trust you to be
melodramatic

so I just say
taste this mango

and I watch she hold
the smooth cheeks
of the mango
blushing yellow
and a glow
rush to she own cheeks

and she ask me
what do I know
just bite into it?

and I was tempted
to tell she
why not be a devil
and eat the skin
of the original sin

but she woulda tell me
trust you to be
mysterious

so I would just say
it's up to you
if you want to peel it

and I watch she feels it
as something precious

then she smile and say
looks delicious

and I tell she
don't waste sweet words
when sweetness
in your hand
just bite it man
peel it with the teeth
that God gave you

or better yet
do like me mother
used to do
and squeeze
till the flesh
turns syrup
nibble a hole
then suck the gold
like bubby
in child mouth
squeeze and tease out
every drop of spice

sounds nice
me friend tell me

and I remind she that ain't
apple core
so don't forget
the seed
suck that too
the sweetest part
the juice does run
down to you heart

man if you see
the English rose
she face was bliss
down to the pink
of she toes

and when she finish
she smile
and turn to me

lend me your hanky
my fingers are all sticky
with mango juice

and I had to tell she
what hanky
you talking about
you don't know
when you eat mango
you hanky
is you tongue

man just lick
your finger
you call that
culture
lick your finger
you call that
culture

unless you prefer
to call it
colonization
in reverse

The Beast

In a time just a few years before my own, rumours circulated that strange beasts roamed through the dense shadows of these woods: tall, hairy beasts with a foul stench trailing behind them. It was in these times during one cold, dark autumn night in the tiny village of Kaslo that an incident occurred that would snowball into mythic proportions.

A group of teenagers had met together at the house of one of the locals. This said local, Mr B, was a bit of a strange man with straggly unkempt hair. But this was not in the least unusual for a small village full of solitary woodsmen.

The kids were getting ready to leave when one was sure he saw a shadow move in the bushes near the edge of the yard. Mr B said he would go out to investigate. Bears are known to occasionally wander into the city boundaries, especially at this time of year with the trees full of pears and apples. This was always a bit of a concern and no one thought it would be anything but. A few of the teenagers watched at the window, but the murky night obscured all but the pale movement of shadows. They waited as the icy air wafted in through the cracks of the old cabin.

Suddenly Mr B flew through the door all wild eyed with hair flying in every direction. “It’s a SASQUATCH!” he rasped as he raced to the kitchen and wrenched open a drawer, utensils flying everywhere. He grabbed the biggest knife to be seen and said, “I’m going after it!” Out he flew into the dark night with all the kids watching wide eyed in hushed whispers. They could just barely make out two shadows seemingly wrestling in the dark of the night. They waited on edge as the minutes passed.

After what seemed like an eternity, a dishevelled Mr. B. returned. “He’s gone! He got away, but I got him good. I don’t think he’ll be back.” The jittery group eventually made their way from the house and plodded towards their own. The groups broke off and became smaller as they fanned outward throughout the town. One of these groups met up with another group of teenagers also on their way back home. The excited kids exchanged stories with the other group and so the tale spread.

By later in the evening, the story had reached the police who wanted to investigate. And their story was later overheard on their radios by the police in the neighbouring town of Nelson. And then later by reporters in Vancouver. Within a week, the story covered the front pages of the Province, and this was before the Province had become such a rag.

So what really happened on that cold dark night? Search parties scoured the woods. They weren’t going to see any sasquatches. But I say nothing.

Unfinished Business

I sat amongst the debris still coming down around me, the smoke choking my lungs as I stifled a cough. "Quick, he whispered, there's no time." I pulled out a kerchief and tied it loosly around my head covering my nose and mouth. We crawled out of our hiding spot still shrouded by the black smoke.

Going, going....

Gone...
As you see, I am off. I will try to post pics with snippets when I have time and can find an internet cafe or wireless. Your job is to figure out where I am...anywhere along the way. Let me know, and if you guess right, there just might be a special prize in it for you.

Coming Soon...

...to a Blog Near You:

Where in the World is Carla?

Stay tuned - Details to be announced.