Dare kamma time
When I’m not here wipin’ de white man’s butt
And I’m home on de beach with Cyril
Drinking Kaliks and gazin’ with love
At the riotous sunset.

But lookin’ down on this poor white soul
And watching the rictus of anxiety and
Embarrassment on his twisted lips
I have pity. It was not his choice to
Be in this place, at this time,
Reduced to punchin’ the button
When he need someone to kamm
Clean up his mess.

He say, he used to run the marathon;
He used to take stairs two at a time;
He has kids who can’t always kamm,
And now, he say, well, look at me now.

I kamm in his room late at night
When he needs water and ginger ale
I tell him about Cyril and how he plan
To open the marina down by the water
The poor soul tells me jokes and sings to me
And calls me honey and sweetie

He say, he always nice to people who
Have needles in their hand and I laugh out loud

I need to leave this place so bad, he say
One night and I tremble when he sobs.
So do I, I tell him, puttin’ my fingers on his
Matted hair. So do I.

Let’s leave together, he say
With that great smile. I’ve always
Wanted to see the sun go down over the
Caribbean Sea.

So do I, I say again. So do I.

03/19/2014

Author's Note: Dedicated to the nurses and nurses aides at New York Hospital Queens, especially the West Indian ones, who made 5 months of off-and-on hell tolerable and kept an injured soul alive and fighting..

Posted on 03/19/2014
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch