Mr. Brown

Mr. Brown don't step foot
on my porch no more,
no more comments on the heat
and how nice I lookin'
and what I doin' standing all the way
over there for
and if he could please
get a glass of water,
how I making him hot and thirsty so
but I know in truth
it must be the heat.

Mr. Brown used to visit my porch
at night
with the light turn' off,
there use' to be a lap
between the chair and
my backside,
and warm hands 'round my waist.
Mr. Brown would kiss me 
on the dark porch
when the moon was hiding
so nobody could see.

Mr. Brown don't step foot
on my porch no more,
I suspect is because of
Mrs. Brown. 


Born and raised on Bequia, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, Vanessa moved to Canada for her studies, where she received a degree in Comparative Literature and Culture, and currently works as a Library Assistant. In her free time she edits other people's writing instead of doing her own. She has been published by Compass, Inscribed, Calabash and The Caribbean Writer, and is a contributing editor at ARC Magazine.

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