Embalmed Food

 

 

I thank God for refrigerators

And the delight that they are,

They have improved our lives

And they have done so by far.

 

Think of the wastage before:

The produce thrown away,

Before the advent of the fridge

That was another day.

 

Today it is so much different

Because of the fridge

And we must give God thanks

For this convenient privilege.

 

I especially want to highlight

The embalmed food

Simply because as I get older

This is more my groove.

 

At our house it is a practice

That no one meal serves one day;

It serves at least two days

And this is our way.

 

In my case in particular

It may serve three days or more

And this is surely because

I am eating far less than before.

 

At our house food is cooked

Expecting somebody to drop in

And if that someone doesn’t turn up

We cannot throw it in the bin.

 

 

Hence, we embalm that food

As in the fridge we store it

And this is especially after Sundays

That this has been our habit.

 

Some of you may be offended

By the word embalmed

But there is nothing funereal about it

So please stay calm!

 

Embalmed food is the sweetest

And I am unanimous in that

And many others can attest

To this culinary fact.

 

Of course, there are some

That eat fresh food every day,

They are not about the fridge

You will hear them say.

 

Sad to say, they will go in one

If they live long enough,

Please accept my humble apology

If this quip is too rough.

 

I’ve heard some call people lazy

When they don’t cook every day

But I also know for a fact

This is the bajan way.

 

Embalmed food is less stress

And for certain less effort

And it is one of the ways

In which I give the wife support.

 

 

I tell her, don’t worry ‘bout me

I will find something,

With embalmed food in the fridge

I can afford to sing.

 

She can go and rest herself

Or find something else to do,

She doesn’t have to cook everyday

Like a ship’s cook for the crew.

 

She will last much longer

And certainly, she won’t run away,

And all things being equal

You may lengthen her days.

 

So, criticize me if you must

But don’t touch my food:

Especially the food that is embalmed,

Hear me now, this is my groove.

 

Stewart Russell © May 25, 2021

I Saw My Father

I saw my father

I know it was he,

I was lying on the floor

And he was standing over me.

The interesting thing, though,

It was no concrete floor,

It was wood all through

And he was near the door.

It wasn’t no dream

‘Cause I wasn’t asleep,

Please shut your mouth

And let me speak.

Of course I was surprised

And you would know why

Since this is ten years

That my father had died.

I was at the morgue

When he came out the fridge,

And also at the burial

Which was at Coral Ridge.

So please don’t remind me

That my father had died

For this is the very reason

That I was surprised.

I tell you it wasn’t a dream

You think I foolish or what?

It was my experience

I was there and you were not.

That’s the problem with people

That were not at an event,

You relate it to them

And your story they resent.

Sorry about that distraction

Let me continue,

Please do not interrupt me

To give your view.

Now where was I?

Let me recall,

I was lying on the floor

But that wasn’t all.

All of a sudden,

Faster than lightning,

He drew this belt from nowhere

To start a beating.

This is no lie

I am telling the truth,

I even got a wale on my hand

I can show you as proof.

I scrambled off the floor

And started to run,

It is then I remembered

To do that was dumb.

My brother tried it before

And he got more licks,

Back then he did not realize

My father was so quick.

So I froze right there

And took every lash,

My brother thought he was Bolt

But my father was Flash.

Just three lashes he gave me

As a matter of fact, four,

The ones on the hand

Only counted for more.

I dared to ask him

What the lashes were for

So he drew the belt again

For such he abhorred.

I quickly apologized

And withdrew the question

Whereupon he disappeared,

I don’t know which direction.

Yes, I saw my father

And it wasn’t a dream,

I felt every lash

Though I didn’t scream.

That was also a “no-no”

We weren’t allowed to scream,

That would be disrespect

Bordering on the obscene.

My experience is finished

You can talk all you like,

 Just one thing though,

It was in the day, not in the night.

Nobody believes me

I find it hard to believe me too

But I saw my father

And that is why I do.

They say, “seeing is believing”

And I believe what I see,

I saw my father

Just like you are seeing me.

The only thing that baffles me

Is his disappearing act

But if I did not see him,

He couldn’t disappear like that.

That should satisfy you

That what I tell you is fact

But if you don’t this time

You will when he comes back.

Stewart Russell © September 2019