Ode to the Watchman
Goodison, Lorna
Ode to the Watchman As we exit from the old city before day we sight the night watchman at his post, evidence of his vigilance against nocturnal furies red in his eyeballs. He did not bow though,...
...Cease the anti-lullaby you keen to maintain wake the sun is here to take your place...
...Your aged, cross mongrel dog rampant at your side, even as the smoke pennant blown, from your rough-cut filterless handrolled cigarettes flew out full staff...
...And now kind watchman go home to rest, you who did not seize and beat the beloved as she roamed the streets, composing the song of Solomon...
...Lorna Goodison...
...All praise to you O beneficent watchman for keeping guard over us while we slept, blessed be your eyelids which did not blink even once in solidarity with those lowered shutters, window blinds and jalousies...
...You remained awake, ever alert, armed, with only your night-stick, rod, and staff...
...He did not bow though, no, not him, it is right to thank him...
...Go home now good watchman...
...For pushing against that grease-stained tarpaulin of despair and not allowing it to befoul us during our needed night rest...
...For keeping at bay restless rolling calves, trampling down from those sleep hills, busted old rusty chains rattling to shake the firm resolve of small hearts, thanks watchie for keeping them from breaking and entering our little children's dreams...
...The last hot rush of caffeine pins that pricked your blood awake has been rained from your thermos flask, your bread-back of nightlunch cast upon the keep-up fire in your belly...
Vol. 130 • October 2003 • No. 18
