Capital City Poem by Elaine Oxamendi Vicet

Capital City

Two tree arch,
Bending, reaching to touch the other,
On the other side of the road.
Trees that stand alone,
On shack prone Industrial Spanish Town Road.
Trees that are never watered out of love,
Unless watered from above.
So children scamper with dirty pails,
Just to get a trickle to taste.

Children running,
Playing, enjoying what they can.
Many men hungry,
They stare, sitting on street corners thinking,
Of a better way.

One literate, reads and tells,
Of the Government’s plan for a brighter tomorrow.
While big bellied boys
Skip across the road.
He continues to read,
Of good news for the hopeful future.

Lower Kingston,
Destination I reach.
Matted haired men aimlessly walk
From street to street.
People move with one mind.
Streams of them flow
From side to side.

Handcarts provide the majority with transport.
Buildings decayed in need of new support.
Hardship shows on every face,
Money-grabbing hands all over the place.
Conspiring soul sit or stand.
The streets of Kingston this I see,
Capital City,
Of my beautiful land.
Still the sun shines over smog, strung streets,
A brighter tomorrow indeed.

Stoplights,
Planted everywhere.
Hinder, hopeful minds.
Still they take it
With feeble, toothless smiles.
People – not streets – shouting, cussing, dirty, stinking streets.
Sufferer’s delight; the Government’s plight.
Jamaica my land; Kingston the capital city stands.
Poverty stricken people,
Don’t understand.

Written by me 30 years ago.