Troy Clarke

Troy Clarke Poems

The Best Poem Of Troy Clarke

Underdeveloped

You call my people underdeveloped
For we use words that have not been defined by your tongue
Still, we bake our bread in outdoor stoves
And we walk the roads barefoot
You call my people backward
For we caress our tongue at times of anger
Still, we tie prizes at the end of the grease pole
And we dance the street in red mud and black oil
You call my people underdeveloped
For we make instruments of music with old oil drums
Still, we make toys out of cocoa leaves
And we bleach our clothes on the grass
You call my people backward
For we build our houses on the side of mountains
Still, we have no building taller than a coconut palm tree
And we line the roof of our houses with galvanize

And I say….

We talk in tongues for it adds rhythm to your standard English
We bake our bread outdoors to let the wheat know we’re appreciative of its grain
We walk the roads barefoot to remind us of simple days once passed
We use our tongue to exfoliate the disease of disgust; a sound so sweet
We tie prizes at the end of the grease pole for it shows us tactics for dealing with everyday life
We dance the streets in red mud and black oil to protect our skin from
the morning sun at Jouvert
We make toys out of cocoa leaves for it’s a form of recycling
We make musical instruments out of oil drums for they connect us to the
rhythm of Africa
We bleach our clothes on the grass to pay homage to the earth
We build our houses at the sides of mountains to protect us from floods
We line the roof of our houses with galvanize; a bedtime story in its own right

You say we are backward?
And I say
We are Grenada!
We are proud
We long for underdeveloped days that have been lost forever

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