Christmas In Barbados Poem by Charmaine Forde

I miss being in Barbados in December,
That is a time I always remember.
The smell of varnish on the wooden floors
and the smell of paint on the wooden doors.

The smell of cloves as the ham was baked
And the smell of the rum, in my mudda fruit cakes.
The smell of coconut as she baked de sweetbread
and the smell of the cloth as she made up de bed.

The sounds of 'moussa' as he played 'Nat King Cole'
The sounds of 'Lassie' as he played…'Coming in from de cold'.
The hustling and the bustling of the bajans buying Christmas gifts
The sights of Taxis, giving Bajan Yankees a lift.

The barrels on top of the Lorries and the vans,
the cases of sweet drinks and the baking pans.
The young people in town buying a new Christmas dress
The smell of hair that yuh mudda just press.

The crowds in de Supermarket
Buying up the rum,
And the music blasting
Puh rup a pum pum.

I am usually glad when de New Year BEGINS.
A month later, 'Courts and Manning come back fuh the things.'