Sint Maarten - John Robert Lee

i.

The Blue Bitch Bar, on the boardwalk

behind Front Street, Philipsburg,

was where we read, Friday night,

during the Book Fair —

dogs chased kids on Segways

a band played Third World classics

waitress gave me the wireless password —

patrons were polite

writers applauded each other

and you reminded me

of someone I loved, and who loved me

45 years ago.

ii.

“Casino country” said a friend,

and downtown, lining narrow cobbled streets,

jewellery stores everywhere, with elderly women

who get a tip if you enter and buy —

a yellow antique car decorates Old Street

Indian shops offer deals on saris and ipads,

and back at the book tables, you sign faith

for a young one who believes

in more than cruise-ship terminals —

but we can’t go back, you and I

to undivided lives, to love as seminal

as pelicans browsing uninvaded shallows.

iii.

At Boundary Monument, driving to Marigot

Shujah points the flag of the independence movement

for a united St. Martin

no more French lagoon, or Dutch salt pond

a mosaic “island of dreams”, multi-national, multi-lingual

cosmopolitan Caribbean —

I didn’t see enough

of bay-embraced quartiers and small hills

to measure the fantasy,

like bridging the points

between archived nostalgia

and relentless vague desire.

(for —)

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John Robert Lee (born c.1955) St Lucia

Source: Moko Magazine