Ode to the Watchman
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By Lorna Goodison

As we exit from the old city before day
we sight the night watchman at his post,

evidence of his vigilance against nocturnal
furies red in his eyeballs. He did not bow

though, no, not him; it is right to thank him.
All praise to you O beneficent watchman

for keeping guard over us while we slept,
blessed be your eyelids which did not blink

even once in solidarity with those lowered
shutters, window blinds and jalousies.

You remained awake. Ever alert, armed
with only your night-stick, rod and staff.

Your aged, cross, mongrel dog rampant
at your side, even as the smoke pennant

blown from your rough-cut filterless
handrolled cigarettes flew out full staff.

For pushing against that grease-stained
tarpaulin of despair and not allowing it

to befoul us during our needed night rest.
For keeping at bay restless rolling calves,

trampling down from those sleep hills,
busted old rusty chains rattling to shake

the firm resolve of small hearts, thanks
watchie for keeping them from breaking

and entering our little children’s dreams.
And now kind watchman go home to rest,

you who did not seize and beat the beloved
as she roamed the streets, composing the song

of Solomon. Go home now good watchman.
The last hot rush of caffeine pins that pricked

your blood awake has been rained from your
thermos flask, your bread-back of nightlunch

cast upon the keep-up fire in your belly. Cease
the anti-lullaby you keen to maintain wake;

the sun is here to take your place.

Lorna Goodison

Lorna Goodison is associate professor of English language and literature and of Afro-American and African Studies. Her seventh and most recent volume of poetry is Travelling Mercies, McClelland and Stewart, Toronto, 2001. Widely anthologized, her poetry appears in the HarperCollins World Reader and the Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces. Also an accomplished painter, Goodison provides her own cover art, often depicting scenes from her native Jamaica.

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