The crop still would not rust
after yellow metal caterpillars
tried to hide their unnaturalness
jutting against the sky.
When rain would come,
run away like a child done wrong
and come back soft, guilt full.
The cane rows meticulous and muddy,
yesterday burnt chaffless and black
left leaning on one another.
The Caroni still flowing,
arrows flowering from the fields still safe.
The island divvied up,
county lines drawn, roads paved
like tributaries of molasses
on sawdust floors.
Muck caked on to the tyres.
The country prone on the coroner’s table,
chest splayed open.
organs soaking in briny solution.
Richard W. E. Georges is a graduate of the MA Creative Writing programme at Aberystwyth University and a native of the British Virgin Islands where he teaches English and Literature at H. Lavity Stoutt Community College. His work has appeared in Smartish Pace, and the Scottish Poetry Library’s The Written World. He is currently a doctoral student at the University of Sussex.