Totally different to my normal type of poems, as I wanted to expand the type of topics I write about. Inspired by this video:
Living in the gullies,
Underground wastelands of Kingston town.
Family don’t wanna house me,
Friends never heard of me,
People on road wanna jook me.
They call me bugger,
Chichi man,
Batty bwoi,
Filthy.
But in the gullies,
Underground wastelands of Kingston town,
I decide what to call me.
Man a gully queen.
Address me by my titles I give you to give me:
Sistren,
Grand Mother,
Her Majesty.
(deep audible breath)
Gully walls are too narrow,
Sewer openings too dirty,
No division between bedroom, kitchen and toilet
But make way!
Routine calls:
Shave face, shave legs,
Lipstick, falsies, nails,
Tube top, skirt, heels,
Weave, skin lightener,
(Some say that’s not good for me
But man has to survive)
Ready!
For another night of
Maybe get lucky with a cute straight guy,
Maybe get cutlass to the throat again
But definitely exciting.
But just in case have my girls for backup:
The siblings, children & parents I chose
Down in the gullies,
Underground wastelands of Kingston town.
But we don’t wanna stay here.
We have a dream:
To march upon the Government,
Make them know we are their problem
As well as the flesh-and-blood who cut us off.
Watch us kick them out,
Legislate them to live in the shitholes
While we free Jamaica from mental slavery
The mental slavery of hating a man’s desire for another man
Or a woman’s desire for another woman,
Of killing we who show the mere possibility of alternative gender roles,
Of blaming “our ways” for the downfall of the black race
When it was Massa
Who used to wank at sticking spear in Christ’s side.
But ‘til then we have to
Scrape and scrounge around in the gullies,
Underground wastelands of Kingston town.
© One Tawny Stranger, March 2016
