In this case, I got the title as nearly the first thing.
(I almost always add the title at the end.)
I was laying in bed at the time.
I looked at the Lord (the “Lawd”)
and I said,
“You must be kidding.”
I don’t even know what that is.
What is that? “Rasta”-style?
I can’t maintain that through a whole poem!
You know I can’t!
What’s with this “Mon” stuff?
Why do I hear that in my head?
I checked online.
Yup “Mon” is where I thought.
I looked at a “Jamaican Patois Translator”
and that was definitely matching up
I mean …
But God is merciful.
He’d never do that to me.
I’ve called his bluff.
You know that he does bluff, hey?
All the time.
You know that he’s a card player like no other, hey?
He makes you think he’s going to let that one thing happen, that thing you’ve always dreaded, that you’ve seen happen to other people, that you’re most scared of, that you’ve read of.
He wants to see what you’ll do.
He wants you to see what you do when you think and fear what you do.
Do you panic, and run to the internet, do you panic and run to the doctor, do you panic and talk to your neighbour? Do you start going to every prayer service within a 100 mile radius? Or do you trust in him? Do you look at him? What do you do?
Ah, I think I have a new way.
O Lawd, you’s too good to do dat t’ me.
I know you is.
I know you is.
And then he just crumbles.
He falls apart.
You knows it.
You got me.
And then he smiles.
Big white perfect smile.
Set against his dark Rasta-perfect skin.
(And now I’m done, so what do I do – just wondering – with my title, which now makes no sense?)
I’ll make a Part Two.
See you soon.