Even if nothing happens,
even if the captain of
the Gravely goes home

with two rum
in he head wondering
where these twin

island come from,
even if the woman
down Carenage the one

who does wear the flag colors
who we tell macco good
and make sure they not

lurking somewhere
in the Gulf of Paria
guns pointing all over

because remember
the two rum making
all the hills look alike

and have him thinking
Orinoco here and
Orinoco there

is the same river,
even if they
call it off at the last

minute and I remind
Maduro my mother
come from down de main

when she was so small
is a midwife in Belmont
mind she, he might still

keep we in mind for
taking sides and
decide during Carnival

to light up the place
while mas playing
and pan beating so

nobody realize until
it too late and Rose
start back singing

Fire, fire in we wire
and that turn out to be
Road March again next year

everybody singing fire, fire.
Even if the lady from Debe
say sorry, the Three Sisters

would already have
gone up in flames, a scene
not even the great poet

could’ve pictured from
his window, the Pitons
Gros and Petit shaking

their heads in disbelief
our voices reaching quite there:
Fire, fire, in we wire wire

and they think
is still
mas we playing.

 

∞

Mervyn Taylor is a Trinidad-born poet and artist. He has taught at the New School and in the New York City public school system and is the author of several books of poetry, including No Back Door (2010), which received the Paterson Award for Literary Excellence, The Waving Gallery (2014), Voices Carry (2017), Country of Warm Snow (2020, a Poetry Book Society Recommendation), The Last Train (2023) and Getting Through: New and Selected Poems (2024). His latest book, Unpainted Houses, is this month published by Broadstone Books.