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Give Jack His Jackass

BECAW Y’BOY did know in advance he was getting the second Astra-Zeneca jook Wednesday afternoon, Y’Boy take in front, literary, and sit down there Tuesday evening into Wednesday morning to write TGIF early.

Becaw Y’Boy remember – is more like he couldn’ta forget – how sick he did get after the first jook. For the first mussee 18 hours or so, Y’Boy was feeling good, walking in the cane and thing, and then that little taste of the virus which is the injection hit him full force in one lash, like ah over-smoke ganja head, and Y’Boy had was to lie down in he bed, wrap up like a roti, cyar do nothing for he-self, exceptin’ wait for the thing to pass, like a PNM government or one-them long-long freight train they’s have in ‘Merica.

And when it hit him, it was a spirit-lash. Y'Boy shivering in the hot sun, wearing denim jacket and track pants and socks and tam on he head at high noon. But Y’Boy grateful to the Small Mercies Department of Heaven, the onliest one still working these days. Cold sweat and palpitation turn into the sleep of the dead and Y’Boy come out the long dark tunnel with no muscle pain neither no exhaustion, and little bit closer to living little bit longer, because he get that first jab.

So, should in case that happen again, Y’Boy sit down there Tuesday evening into Wednesday morning and he wonder again what it is with this Trinidad that they does make easy thing, hard and hard thing, joke.

From last March, when Y’Boy understand the virus does pass by droplet, Y’Boy was social distancing and wearing bandana round he face, like bandit, long before WHO tell them. Y’Boy might be dunce in science but he bright in staying alive.

Why Trini does make easy thing hard?

Keep your arse quart, like Paolo does say, and stay the firetruck at home. Eef you have to bound to must go outside, wear a mask and stay six feet away from every-firetrucking-body becaw any-firetrucking-body could give you the thing.

And then is burial, not bir’day, for you.

Y’Boy mussee write ‘bout ten thousand words ‘bout how simple it is.

But Trini more simpler.

People reposting a pile of tata on social media and telling theyself they bright like bulb.

People putting the vaccine under the microscope and ignoring the virus in front they own two eye.

What you do with these people who will die stupid and feel they smart?

They more sorrier for you, than you for them. You ent do the research to find out that covid come like a headache, two panadol and you done, and is really the vaccine that will kill you.

Trini watching a virus grinding the world to a halt and grinding the people of the world like masala and they up in arms that they ent need Bill Gates microchip in they bloodstream becaw them does eat yogurt and do yoga and thing. They immune system firing on all cylinders and they ent taking no chemo, them does smell tea tree oil for prostate cancer.

Y’Boy understand Trini mentality long time. Trini instinct is not to whistle when they passing a graveyard in the dark of night, but to beat a rhythm and jump up and wine down as they passing the graveyard. When Y’Boy wasn’t self old enough to vote, he was telling he pardners in he English boarding-school that, where he come from, if people trip and fall over and bus’ they face, they does sing two kaiso on the way down. If they teeth chip when they hit the ground, it wouldn’t stop them from chipping down the road to the dentist.

But it ent have no bottle-and-spoon in ah ICU ward.

Your lungs does turn to glass.

But Trini still playing the ass.

Keithos tell everybody hold a national day of prayer.

When they jam up and shout out to the Lord on Harris Promenade, spitting all over one another, he say don’t jackass the scene.

But how you could jackass a scene that done jackass from day one? Firetruck the scene, the whole act done jackass, and the whole cast is jackass.

If and when the vaccine and them finally reach, watch and see how much jackass will refuse it.

Y’Boy know plenty people might end up as the punchline in the old nuclear war joke told in the voice of the old Harlem grandaddy: when you see the light, lie on the floor; flip your tired old legs over your head; and kiss your jack-ass goodbye.

BC Pires is advocating a National Day of Reality

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