Comments about S. Joseph
The fishmonger was washing the vessel
In the running water of the tiny stream.
The screw pines did not see him.
There is a motor workshop, where the stream
Heading down straight, takes a sharp turn.
He didn't see its laterite wall either
Parallel to the stream
To the south and north
The MC road* raced away.
It's we the children who saw
In the water not even half a foot high
The body of the fishmonger
The vessel, the scale and weights
Epilepsy having twirled him down
Water playing about his hair
In the water, the screw pine ...