SAINT THOMAS, VERSES 143 - 152
Mark Traill
1 June 2008, 10:15Good day and goodnight my city of stars
Your light ever fading
In tail lamps of cars
I’m not even drunk, I’m not even high
I’m leaving you now
I’m cutting my tie
Kinship drifters, weary ghosts
Drudging the plains
Of existence in boats
Another outsider to stave off the madness
Its silence is holding
The lid on my sadness
Dialogues with children speaking my tongue
Gesticulation and laughter
As we drive to the sun
Their costumes of red do jangle on roads
Of tarmac, then dust
These wheels that erode
Paths to Dorada; Rajasthan boys
Clutching their bags
Of knives and toys
And carvings and jewellery to earn their lives
On the sands of the island
From parangis who lie
As red as their garments and rich like a tsar
The profits are good
Then back to Khaba
Digging in deep to the belt of my money
Pontificate my god
That’s right for my journey
Saraswati or maybe Kali?
Bless me with Sita?
Kiss me with Laxmi?
No, fit a purpose but not of my yearning
Removing this lust
An obstacle that’s burning
Away at my soul; I need to discover
My cherubic friar
My funnier brother
Head on a spike, alleviation
Visage with trunk
A tusk for creation
Bring me my sweets of clarified butter
In boxes from the streets of little Mapusa
Prophesy me: I’m getting fat here
Yet do I realise that Bibinca is dear
As a diet to supplement
Addiction and torment
There are more stories
Beneath this firmament
Set foot to the rickshaw
Wave the children goodbye
Remark at the landscape
So lush yet so dry
I reach out to the beach hut
Beneath the shade of palms
In Arumbol by sunset
Yet all is not so calm
A papa called San Fabio
Does gather up my rupees
He puts them in his pocket that
Does rustle with his doobies
He asks me if I’m catholic
My nod is melancholic
He brings me coconuts
Before bedtime
He’s drunk: An alcoholic
“San Fabio is my name!
And Arumbol’s my home!”
I tell him “I’ve heard of no such Saint
But I’ll look it up in Rome”
He’s an oily little man
Beneath his smile a creep
He treats his children with disdain
So what? His rooms are cheap
My quarters, a room on the side of his house
Cruciform in shape and comes with a mouse
An entrance, inside another set of doors
That leads to the family sleeping on floors
The voice in each quarter travels to places
In the coil of the night I hear Irish faces
Mixing sounds of the waves thumping land
Charge of the cavalries that die in the sand
Invited for dinner at Fabio’s
To eat his sausage and fish
Curry potatoes, rice and cabbage
Devour every dish
Cuisine appeals
To my yearnings for meals
My stomach is healing nicely
My stools have much more texture now
Because the food is spicy
Fabio’s younger brother
Is eating with us too
I take a careful look at him
He’s richer than a Jew
Fabio wears gaudy t-shirts
And shorts and thongs; that’s it
Whilst brother resplendent
With golden tooth
And suit that’s made to fit
I take pictures of his family
For no good reason at all
Then take outside
For a game of cricket
The wicket, a tree so tall
I like this feeling of shade
That listens to the sea
Overlapping palm shadows
Cool heat in the canopy
The ball spins fast
My bat catches air
Out again
3 times succession
And now he’s ruffling his hair
Someday he’ll be a bowler so
He won’t ever play with me
It’s fair to say I’m useless yes
And he’d rather play the tree
Fabio just knocked on my door, furious with that Irish couple
The day hasn’t start well for him, as the pair had smashed a bottle
Of caju feni in the vicinity of Fabio’s nephews and niece
Who preceded to slip and fall on the glass their blood was now on the beach
They also broke a chair in the room; I explained the Irish like the craic
It’s a philosophy and outlook of peoples from islands in the north Atlantic tract
He’s kicking them out and they leave with a laugh then turn to run to the sea
I couldn’t care less my appetites quenched and a devil has risen in me
Horned beast of selfishness
Touch his skin with fine caress
Flawless creature, dripped in summer
Notch on bed post, just a number
Lingam mantle taste the honey
Screwing girls and spend their money
German, Swedish, Russian hips
Jerking, squeezing, luscious bits
In Fabio’s room I feel the heat
Of eyes that burn this wretched meat
Fabio’s shame; voyeur of evening
Purveying guests
As wife keeps sleeping
And more shame to come
Expose the rat
His wife screams his name
Not Fabio but
“SAMPAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
