Me in the Caribbean, he in a US state,
my son calls home and tries hard to make light
of disturbing current affairs—
tells me things ain’t as bad as they seem.
He says, It’s just anOther Carnival Mum,
this time folks masquerading fear as hate and
theatrical smoke-and-crazy-funhouse-mirror
news, projecting, distorting not reflecting.
TV and Twitter white-noise distraction
keeping everyone angry and so damn
scared of shadows—
...and us hoping
hashtags will change shit, he laughs.
But I hear the weariness behind his voice and
sense these days his eyes, bloodshot,
are mostly darting back—not so focused
on that bright future he spoke of once.
I say—I love you—take care, and before he hangs
up I quickly add, remember, don’t put much salt
in your food—now more than ever you need to be
able to fly high high high into the Celestial Nite.