One Friday Morning During the Coronavirus Pandemic

I see the flyest shit out my window.

My man came down the hill and started attacking this ackee tree on the side of the road. He’s fighting the tree with stones, chunks of dirt, and assorted rocks he’s picking up right there on the roadside, and what looks like about 8 foot of bamboo. That’s gotta be a clothesline stick. It’s 5 a.m. Bleak morning. Drizzle fine like mist.

5 a.m. Well at least my man’s observing curfew.

He hears cars coming and ducks into the bush. So whoever is in the cars doesn’t witness his banditry I guess.

Of course, some of the ackees fall into the road. Mandatory. When does Life ever make anything easy for anybody? Taillights fading into the distance, now he’s running after the pods still rolling across the street, barefoot, hunched over, fleet-footed, looking for all the world like Gollum chasing what Gollum chases.

He snags two of the pods, but accidentally kicks a stray across the road into the bush on the other side.

He gives up on that one.

That one’s not so precious.

Another car is coming.

Look at this. This man done grabbed up his stick, like he’s heading home after a long day on the farm, bag full, ambling slow and insouciant back up the road.

I hope his woman knows what he had to go through so she could eat breakfast this morning.

And I hope he remembers to put his woman’s clothesline stick back where he got it from before the next time she washes or there’s gonna be so much trouble in the world.

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