Those Little Garnishes at the Café Surreal

On a floatsum island,

down the Caribbean,

in a bongo-bongo

place, très epicurean,

in me coconut juice

and de tiger milk gin,

I spy de scareful wake

of de hammerhead fin:

“Shark!” I cry.

Dis bring a lon’ dead eel

in pink bowtie,

de Café Surreal head waiter.

He say, “De shark no please de mon?

You want a litto umbrella?”

“No, no,” I say, “What else you got?

Some litty bite less scare so?”

The lon’ dead eel, he smile.

“I bring de twist o’ slug?

de octopus?

de black water bug?

de ‘gator?”

Qui Qui!

I pick de water bug.

It swim so fine

dare in da gin

and jungle wine.

De atmosfear, refined it be

(Oh! de spiceful garnishes)

at de Café Sur-real.                                                       printable