Power-Cut

Santo Domingo is a unique place in which to write poetry. It is quite literally a battlefield of conflicting noise. Here then, is a snapshot of my typical Santo Domingo suburb, from the perspective of my kitchen table. One thing in the reading:-- to achieve the authentic flavour and meaning that this piece attempts to convey, every word must be read, simultaneously! Persian blinds open Steel bars welded Shut. Gunshots, luego baby, I won't be back! Neighbours talking dancing singing fighting toilets flushing boom-boom-boom-box regetón Car alarms babies wails dogs barks muggers mugging hum whirr buzz bang Dengue flies Children’s' laughter Cholera Take a swim Pots and pans Get the chicken—pick the best one Chop-chop-chop Biggest bestest unripe plantains! Fix your fan! Fresh lettuce! Sharpen knives! I take rubbish! Spitfires--supped-up mopeds--Honda 50's spitting flame Pesos pesos Salted-fish Calling all gods and all remaining virgins Saints too Don't forget me Ave Maria Purisima Bitter-orange Clean the meat Passion-fruit and putrefaction Shake it up Make the blend Hustle Hustle Power-cuts Learn new tricks What's your fix? Repeat repeat repeat repeat Real reality Raw, crude Culture