By Aurin Squire
My knees are made of glass, but I still dance
Calypso bass hits the clicking 'dra
Cameroon fish'men shout with lil' prance
Mama se mama sa ma ma coo 'sa"
My arms swing wide and slow when chopping Cane,
of dark Cuban mulatto church ladies.
my American back winces in pain
as I bird leap with people from Haiti.
Senegalese sailors cast'anets gold
snare snaps a high-hatting Sambelele
Carib' Curry stewed w/ Ghanese sold
in a waltzing round'bout rhythmic sway.
Akimbo'ed legs churn air into my light
A dancing carnival spins harvest night.