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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Saturday Night Smoke It is Saturday night, and I have to put up a terrible fight, It is Saturday night, and the people are walking around with much delight, the days are creeping up slowly and the sky is shouting glory The sun is moving towards the earth, and it is filling the sea with corrosive dirt. I wonder what is happening up there hold your breath cover your face and prepare for the big date.It is Saturday night and a big crowd has decended on market street, empty hands, empty pockets and empty bags.Stern faces blindfolded with fear looks at the naked sky hoping that the night will bring them luck and give them something to fill their empty guts.As the evening marches along, it moves around the center of the town with a message in a long gown Long faces scratching their cheeks rises above their heads looking For a comfortabe place to put their bed, and the market singsong with colorful sounds moving up and down market street looking for something to eat. No Sunday dinner, no Monday supper, business is running very slow and the market women are looking for a place to go.The goods are piled up on the street, and it is very cheap but the people still cannot afford to buy them.Fruits and vegetable clothes and shoes and everything that can clothe the mule paved the ground in the town while the shoppers dilly dally around.The passenger vehicles are circling around the town with big buses and few passengers.They are honking their horns while people are looking for a brawl. and the taxi with a terrible hang over.Shouting out loud while looking for a load. Nothing is happening in the town but people are just standing and looking around ,and silently writing the next chapter in their head and looking around for a bread. I am still trying to figure out the dynamics of this culture and how it has made so many people suffer, the politics and the religion the pumpkin and the yam, the cassava and the sugar cane and sometimes you have to take some of the blame.And then there are those whose stories cannot be told.I see them running around the street with nasty frowns on their faces, distress or anxiety, worry or pity it is the tale of a country that rose from poverty but poverty still forms layers in its face and in the middle of the street they squat, they chat and they makeup an awful lot.I see them walking down the street with empty pockets empty bags, they are strolling around the town and they are looking very sad. The heat is rising, the tempreature is growing and the traffic is building up.On the other side of the street you can hear the thumping music vibrating in the background and the man with a pile of bread stacked in the crate moves swiftly across the gate.He is moving to a rhythmic beat and watching the people penetrating Saturday night`s smoking heat.And then the grocery delivery man comes along with an apron wrapped round his waist and boxes on his cart and quickly unload them into a taxi.Cars and trucks people and bus moving swiftly around but I don`t know where they are bound.Some of them are shopping and others are galivanting, they are not carrying any heavy bags, they are just walking around looking very sad. And just behind me lies tattered tents with heavy set men occupying them and a big crowd gather behind them.The sweet aroma coming from the tents bother my nose and wet my dry appitite. Jerk pork, jerk chicken, soups and all forms of foods filter the air and you could smell the hotsauce pepper sauce coming from behind the man who has consumed too much and now it is burning out his gut. A big crowd gathers around them and the multitude is slauting them. Oh it is America`s fourth of July and Jamaica is floating in the sky. Everything that comes from the street side kitchen, disrupt the order of everything in city.This is such a beautiful town but it is clothed with all types of night owl, peepholes dirty pyjamas the Chinese wholesale stores, soup kitchen, cook shops and everything they have got.Saturday night smoke is Swirling in the air so get your city inorder before you choak in Saturday`s smoke.
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