If you happen to be in Ikolaba...

An obvious dead end will reveal itself from the start

The only way to keep going is right

In the heat of golden sunshine

Until you reach the creamish bungalow hidden under a girthy fruit tree.

Crushed pink petals ripped from their green stems

Now bounce around

With the toes of  barefoot children

That run and play

And wait on the bruised mangoes to fall.

Fat tender sweet skin

Beaten red and orange

These stubborn plump things.

An impatient child’s third strike and a green leaf lands

Further down the street

On the rusted roof of the corner store where

A woman with a bright gap toothed smile will always

Give you one more sweet than your money can buy.

Those old enough are across the street

Gentlemen and ladies alike

On their way to the night club up the hill.

A handful of skimpy dresses and jean shorts

They disappear into the distant building where the

Booming bass comes from.

Tonight they’re the lucky ones

But so is anyone near or far

Who can make out the lyrics falling on the heavy sonorous beats

Like every night

These lyrics are different.

Everybody Scatta Scatta Everybody Scatta Scatta