Kin and Curry
The coffee table is crammed with rum,
near empty bottles to show for last night.
Swaying to calypso songs and dad’s drum,
stories told ‘til the sky turns pink and white.
Silver pots full of mom’s peppery meals,
dishes spilling over with curries and sweet rice.
Dancing bare feet so blackened at the heels,
skirts curling in the warm night to entice.
Some knock another shot, some are just knocked out.
There’s careless hugs and kisses passed along,
soon to greet the morning, their eyes worn-out.
For now they leave the home where they all belong.
Good-bye, more hugs and kisses, yawn after yawn.
Time to go elsewhere, all the rum is gone.
-Amelia Badri
The coffee table is crammed with rum,
near empty bottles to show for last night.
Swaying to calypso songs and dad’s drum,
stories told ‘til the sky turns pink and white.
Silver pots full of mom’s peppery meals,
dishes spilling over with curries and sweet rice.
Dancing bare feet so blackened at the heels,
skirts curling in the warm night to entice.
Some knock another shot, some are just knocked out.
There’s careless hugs and kisses passed along,
soon to greet the morning, their eyes worn-out.
For now they leave the home where they all belong.
Good-bye, more hugs and kisses, yawn after yawn.
Time to go elsewhere, all the rum is gone.
-Amelia Badri
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