The Soliloquy Of A Ministry-Of-Fishery Officer Poem by Dr Ronnie Bai

Dressed in a sturdy-fit overall somber and dark,
Boosted with my battle-boots of the U.S. troops,
Reinforced with a buffalo hide strap hard and thick
On which clink-clank a pair of chrome cuffs,
And caressing the canister of pepper spray
Clinging on my hips covered with salty sand,
I’m the monument of all monuments on display
On this hospitable historical fishing island.
So, ye visitors, homage to me you’d better pay!

Putting on my elder son’s toy balaclava,
Covered under my uncle’s huntingwear,
My faced streaked with my wife’s mascara,
With my eyes glued to the rusty pair
Of Russian military binoculars peeping
At the loading and unloading fishermen,
I am the Great White of all great whites lurking
Under these rich waters God has given His men.
So, my mates, out for me you’d better be watching!

Ye rich visitors, I laugh at everyone of ye’all
When you, wishing to reach a new-law confirmer,
To the ministry’s free line make a call,
Which, bounced to my phone with no answer,
Serves to betray you as targets so easy
I swoop on like a bird of prey at the airport
Where your trunks will be strip-searched silly.
Oh, your stained underwear is sure better sport
Than those in the mail-shop catalogues I fancy.

Often do I wonder why newly reduced
Quota are duly observed, even if I make sure
No new posters are in good time posted
Neither at the airport nor on the island nowhere.
Hey, you’re clearly a clever smoke-screen maker
Messing around with the master-brain of all brains –
A single one too many, be it a shell fish or lobster,
Your holiday’d be made so expensive by the fines
Ye never gonna come back. I’ll win, ye mind gamer.

Now turning to my mates I’ve been watching,
I ain’t envy them, even if their deckies’ dole
Is twice as much as what the government’s paying,
And I did show, for my bullied baby boy, self-control.
I’m an MoF officer, got to play fair, out of the sea
Where the great white finds savory a snorkeler,
To that scuba diver’s forfeited livelihood oversee.
All my childhood mates can be as loud a holler,
When I’m into it, till “Please stop, ” your missus begs me.