Night music in the Parking Lot

A freestyle Calypso
steel band plays
in the In the corner
of the Shoppers drug mart
parking lot,
Illuminated by lot security spots,
and surrounded by
red Rogers
Bundles vans,
and by a lighted
chain link fence.
The music echoes
freely off the underbelly
of a freeway stage and stand,
as the steel band practices nightly
for a coming Caribana show,
with lined up arms
all swinging
in a row
on stainless steel tin cans.
Ringing tin music
bounces off smooth
grey concrete walls
and ceilings
and off the pillars
of the slightly lonely
freeway stand,
and the music takes us
to the brilliant whiteness
of the island sands.
And as I stand there
with my MacDonalds coffee
and the rest
of my bystander clan,
with their Blackberrys
clicking pictures,
and recording music
all in hand,
along with all the other
random stragglers,
and some other Shoppers
parking lot club fans,
I’m reminded of my
friend Jamaican Island Wayne ,
with the palm trees
that wave and flutter in his eyes,
as my good old friend Ben
had once described.

And that palm tease makes
the ladies all excited
from the tips of their
Philip Traecey hats
and down
to their polished knees.
Their Marc Jacobs skirts
sway in the gentle island breeze.
It makes
their Hermes hearts
all flutter,
and oh how he knows,
right down to
the tingling tips
of their luscious,
red underbellied,
Louboutin toes.
And I sit in my beige Lincoln
and think
how can paradise
be described ?
Is it name brand heaven
that makes us all alive ?
Can we survive
on the islands without
Dolce and Gabbana
and without Todds?
Are we all so invested,
that we just can’t
be divested,
of all those brands,
without losing who we are,
or for fear of being someone
that no designer knows.
Perhaps it’s just Ma Bell,
who is always listening,
that only really ever knows.
The calypso steel band
is still playing.
and it’s so real and so alive,
and it’s so not even Bose,
And I think of my
little two year old
nephew William,
who would now
be clapping,
and a dancing,
and taking off his clothes,
to the ringing island jive.

Where is naked, natural, beauty
with unemcumbered eyes,
free from all the Maybeline
(that’s now even worn by guys),
and all stripped down in its beauty,
and free from all designer clothes ?
So drink your one fifty one and coca cola,
and polish your Manolos too.
It’s just plain good for you
and stylish too,
or so we’re told,
as all of corporate America,
Europe and China knows.
So make sure
to wear your Calvins,
underneath your Gucci suit,
and hop into your Mercedes
for display
on a circling Yorkville toot,
as the music of the islands
still wafts across
the evening sky,
and the white sand meets
generic salty waters
across a brandless evening sky .