Deep in the depths of a dark, dark pool 
lives a water monster named Billy McCool. 
He's got shiny scales of pink candy ice 

I’ve seen those tough as oaks

weep like willows

even the hardest thugs can have tear stained pillows

most can’t see the forest for the trees

He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.
He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.
His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.

That fire, they said, was red as red as red
as red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;
that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,
faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;

  Nicholas, I’ve warned you

about not paying attention

in my class.

This is your final warning.

At swimming once,
I went to turn from front to back
and just kept turning,
just kept turning,
turning over,
over and over,
till the swimming teacher said,

A free bird leaps 
on the back of the wind   
and floats downstream   
till the current ends 
and dips his wing 

Dada taught me cards.
Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.
A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.
His big belly like a cannon ball.

In the Carribean
at the end of day
sun drops suddenly
like a fire ball
behind forested hills

Say, Good mornin, Granny Maama
Good mornin, Grandpa Taata.
Good mornin when it rainin.
Good mornin when sun shinin.
Good mornin.