’TWAS the night before the new year, when all through Jamaica’s politics was stirring up trouble...
The country’s pockets were hung by the IMF, in hopes that foreigners would soon invest;
The citizens were all nestled snug in their beds while visions of more wage freezes danced in their heads;
And ‘Mama P’ in her ‘kerchief, and the Parliament in their cap, had just settled the bandwagonists for a short election nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, the people sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away flew Andrew Holness’s house like a flash, Dwayne Vaz tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The five-star Moon Palace got the best of St Ann, giving lustre to the former Jamaica Grande,
When what to my wondering eye did appear but another set of wage agreements that will last for some years.
With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be Dr Peter Phillips.
More rapid than signatures the civil servants came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, JCF! now, JTA! now NAJ and JMDA!
On Enrolled Assistant Nurses! On Civil Servants! On United District Constables and Jamaica Federation of Corrections and Senior Uniformed Officers!
To the top of four per cent! To the top of seven per cent!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As money before the wild inflation cry when they meet with an obstacle, (they) mount to the streets on the fly.
So up to the banks, the signatures flew with the papers full of interest, and Dr Phillips too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of every loan company through and through.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, through the door, crimes came with a bound.
It was dressed all in greed, from its head to foot, and its clothes were all tarnished with dread and loot;
A bundle of bodies it left in its wake, and the shock that it gave, made us slack like when the politicians draw the knives from our backs.
And the remains it left behind was as white as snow from racks;
The stump of an enquiry, the country’s holding tight, up to our teeth; and the smokescreen it encircled our heads like a wreath;
The commissioner gave a hard face and sarcastic disposure that shook when the lawyers worked hard looking for closure.
He was serious and austere, a man without any fear. And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself no tear;
Kinks in the witnesses’s testimonies and twists of the lawyers’ heads soon gave me to know nothing will be put to bed;
Miss Universe spoke not a word, but Miss World went straight to work.
‘Emancipendence’ filled all our stockings, then turned with a jerk,
As laying its fingers aside of the costs, IMF gave a nod and the problems tossed.
The country sprang on its feet, to its team gave a whistle, and away they flew like the down of the thistle,
Seven gold they brought hither; but I heard Jamaica exclaim, here we still are all a dither
Happy new year to all and may good sense not wither!
Colette Campbell
rastarjamaica@yahoo.com
The country’s pockets were hung by the IMF, in hopes that foreigners would soon invest;
The citizens were all nestled snug in their beds while visions of more wage freezes danced in their heads;
And ‘Mama P’ in her ‘kerchief, and the Parliament in their cap, had just settled the bandwagonists for a short election nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, the people sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away flew Andrew Holness’s house like a flash, Dwayne Vaz tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The five-star Moon Palace got the best of St Ann, giving lustre to the former Jamaica Grande,
When what to my wondering eye did appear but another set of wage agreements that will last for some years.
With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be Dr Peter Phillips.
More rapid than signatures the civil servants came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, JCF! now, JTA! now NAJ and JMDA!
On Enrolled Assistant Nurses! On Civil Servants! On United District Constables and Jamaica Federation of Corrections and Senior Uniformed Officers!
To the top of four per cent! To the top of seven per cent!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As money before the wild inflation cry when they meet with an obstacle, (they) mount to the streets on the fly.
So up to the banks, the signatures flew with the papers full of interest, and Dr Phillips too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of every loan company through and through.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, through the door, crimes came with a bound.
It was dressed all in greed, from its head to foot, and its clothes were all tarnished with dread and loot;
A bundle of bodies it left in its wake, and the shock that it gave, made us slack like when the politicians draw the knives from our backs.
And the remains it left behind was as white as snow from racks;
The stump of an enquiry, the country’s holding tight, up to our teeth; and the smokescreen it encircled our heads like a wreath;
The commissioner gave a hard face and sarcastic disposure that shook when the lawyers worked hard looking for closure.
He was serious and austere, a man without any fear. And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself no tear;
Kinks in the witnesses’s testimonies and twists of the lawyers’ heads soon gave me to know nothing will be put to bed;
Miss Universe spoke not a word, but Miss World went straight to work.
‘Emancipendence’ filled all our stockings, then turned with a jerk,
As laying its fingers aside of the costs, IMF gave a nod and the problems tossed.
The country sprang on its feet, to its team gave a whistle, and away they flew like the down of the thistle,
Seven gold they brought hither; but I heard Jamaica exclaim, here we still are all a dither
Happy new year to all and may good sense not wither!
Colette Campbell
rastarjamaica@yahoo.com