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Fiction and Poetry

The Wait
by Jim Nasium

Walking Home from Le Quattro Porte around Midnight
by Jackie Goyette

December 2001—Fiction and Poetry

The Wait
by Jim Nassium

Dawn's light slowly colors the east sky
reflections of sunrise paint the sea water
birds sing the song of a new day
dogs bark and cats head home from the prowl
my feet are soaking in the warm salt water
I sit on the sea wall waiting
the bus to town is late again today
no one is in a hurry here

Off in the distance I see a few small boats
the waves toss them toward the shore
their nets are loaded with today's catch
soon they will be on land again
needing to sell all they have collected
slowly the market place comes alive

Vendors gather in the center of town
wooden tables and booths are set up
They offer fruits and vegetables
breads and cheese, fish, meats, and ganja
I always get to the vendors early
that is when they are eager to barter
but now I only wait for the bus to come

The sixty mile trip along the old coast road
from Salt Springs to downtown Montego Bay
will only take about eighty minutes by car
compared to two and a half hours by bus
but the dollar twenty five I spend
for a one way bus trip is worth the extra time

The old man who pushes the wheeled wooded cart
loaded with fresh bread and sweet buns
stops at the sea wall to offer me a bun
he sits with me for a minute and we talk
he assures me the bus will be here soon
I thank him and wish him a good day
he must go set up in the market place
before all of the good spots are taken

A few woman who go into town everyday
gather near the sea walls and talk
they are happy to wait in the shade
school children in blue and white uniforms
play games like Simon Says and jump rope
their books and lunches lay forgotten on the ground
they wish the bus would not come
and they could play all morning

Men who must take the bus to their jobs
are slightly hung over from last night's rum
wanting only to turn back time
and be in the arms of their loving wives
in bed, in the small wooded houses they built
a place they can call home

The big blue bus rounds the corner finally
the horn blows three times to announce it's arrival
a long line of people forms to board
slowly I put on my shoes and gather my things
I make my way to the end of the line
I pay my dollar twenty five and find a seat

The ride to town is always a pleasant one
there is always someone new to talk to
young ladies interested in an American man
Rastas who swear they have the best of everthing
old people with their stories of days gone by
conversation and ganja is in the air
as we make our way East on the old coast road
I know that Montego Bay is not far now