“Don’t hold your breath”
Don’t hold your breath
You might turn blue
Exhale instead
And breathe anew
Reciting Om
And keeping calm
In diesel fumes
Of toxic balm
Don’t wait in vain
For WAPA’s fix
Just lie still
And don’t complain
No muscle twitch
No itchy sneeze
Simply pray
For ocean breeze
And light of day
To burn away
The beads of sweat
That swell and grow
In salty streams
Down cleavage flow
To groin and cracks
You did not know
Enjoy the sauna
What a treat!
No price too high
For shedding pound
And cleansing pore
A “WAPA spa”
Oh, bring on more!
You over there
On feeders all
Please listen up
And heed my call
Perspire with me
On 9 dash C
Rotate they say
In our alerts
And live your life
In two hour parts
Are we on
Or are we not
Eat all you can
So food won’t rot
I love to dance
Rotate and spin
But island-wide
Just does me in
When fridges fail
And blow their fuse
Devices fry
I lose my muse
My fans they die
And with no spark
The World Wide Web
Goes very very very dark
My hotspot’s now
Full body flush
From butt to brow
In mottled hues
Of menopausal blush
And, yes, indeed
I know of them
The chosen few
Illuminati
One and all
So wise and cool
In solar bubbles
Unaware
Of sweaty crotch
And melting ice
As to their lips
They raise and sip
A crystal glass
Of chilled Rosé
Or frosty can
Of IPA
I could go on
With soggy brain
Dripping words
Like English rain
Tap tap tap
The finger goes
Puddles forming
Round my toes
In nonsense pools
Of Tweedledee
And Tweedledum
Of Tedium
Ad Nauseam
With finger proud
To WAPA raised
Dark to the masses
Power be praised!
And so, I beg
In one last plea
Don’t hold your breath
Come sweat with me.
— Corinne Van Rensselaer is a 41-plus-year resident of St. Thomas.
