Wheelout
Here I come again…

Sunday worship

Wheel out. Here I come again. Run go tell yuh enemy, run go tell yuh fren. Me peasy like Sunday morning. Me well want check I-nity. Most Sunday she roast breadfruit, plantain, fry down veg and callaloo. We sit pan de floor, low, eating off one likkle table, wid one spoon an one bowl. We catch up, run joke, afta we done eat, we have special Sunday worship smoke. Good an conscious, such a humble daughta, always rise from de table, wash up de dishes straight afta. A dat me like.

Outside de christian people a walk to church. Big hat, shine shoes and criss, press out shit. An me wonder. When dem a go a church pan Sunday, de bible in dem hand, happy as dem go along, singing redemption song, dem a tink bout de homeless on de street, if poor man have somewhere to sleep. Me nah disrespect. But. Church a God Seventh Day, Seventh Day Adventure, New Testament, Bethal United, Property, none a dat deh livity appeal to me.

How dem batta people wid dem bible, pretend seh dem nuh worship idol and want to believe dat dem meek and dem humble. By 10am me start to screw, but I-nity woman know exactly what to do. She bring me mint tea, light couple incense, put on mellow music an tek off me hat. Me natty happy when she massage me dread, me relax, unwind, tek de system off my mind and focus on I-nity instead. Like how man contaminate, me will just hav to wait. Dis is a lesson to me, two woman is enough, a craven me craven, three is too much. Rewind and come again.

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