You say bomboclawt softly

In this country, one Sunday morning,
you might remember shining
your black shoes at 3AM, not for church,
but for a dance only just beginning
on Spanish Town Road.
You remember the DJ prophesying
unholiness to dark ladies who saw
no blasphemy, but got caught up
in the spirit of his words
                  if you an yu man deh
from high school             an a dutty gyal come
    an tek him weh
an you have her number               den call her
                an tell her
she can tek her stretch-out pum-pum self
an kip him!
Remembering this, you say bomboclawt
softly, like a prayer, like Amen.
Words once profane seem holy here.
You reach for them, as your grandmother would
reach for scripture - as something to sustain you
in this country.