Dinner.

 The hunter/gatherer returns with smiles and salty tales

of tangled rock snared lines,well cast,

yet destined for the deep.

 The mountain man, so adept in the river and its' pools.

was out of depth, and patience, as the sea ran with his spool

of tackle, spent, hooks, lines and sinkers,

the sun was sinking too,

when Barracuda made his move

and brought this gift to you.

Our Fish Friday

In the late afternoon, on a hot and humid day, I hear the conch shell call. The fish van is on its' way into the village. There is still plenty of time to find my purse and hold a bowl. I feel for some jacks, small jacks, well seasoned and fried in a little oil, to a crisp. The conch shell blows, louder, nearer. Peeping out from the kitchen doorway, I can see the little red fish van, parked up by Waist's Shop. T, upstairs, and not one to wait until they reach our gap, shouts "What you have?"
Being downstairs, where the house is of wall, the reply is muffled. T shouts again, " How much for it?" The van pulls up on the road above our house. The conch shell calls loud, loud, loud. T takes the bowl and returns with two pounds of Rock Hind and a smile as big as if he had caught them himself. "When last girl?"


With thanks to Guyana Gyal for the inspiration.
Read about the famous Gouave Fish Friday.