EmJay

 

EmJay

 

That’s a contemptuous toss

signalling a loss

of some sort – it’s wiser not to pry

but something in you wants to try

those blazing eyes.

Often, they leave them at home,

strike out alone

and their manchild, sucking tuba

stays behind, doesn’t mind

some underneath the mango tree,

me honey,

or a touch of boolooloop.

Which could be the beef,

come to think of it – bruxist teeth

which snarl at the thief

who threw shade at the shelter.

It’s hot, you swelter,

criss-cross from light into dark

keeping to the edges

walking brick, shunning whitewash,

with instructions.

Buy avocado, buy banana,

but let EmJay choose, you’re no use

when it comes to ripe fruits,

last week’s were rotting.

You find her squatting,

cleaning pancit off the shelves

in a waterfall of black fringe

tumbling over dusky brushed shadows

and a smile that singes.

Hair is scraped back into a bun,

but no hijab here

and against the severe

cut of her shirt and apron,

they push, they push,

yearn for release

you imagine them on the tongue.

Where is ah-teh?,

she raps, picks small ones, bruised

from too much squeezing,

passes them in a murmur of teasing -

laughs: Ah! The monkey will eat,

the monkey will come.