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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Broccoli Rabe, Broccoli Rasta


 

…sang the radio in Accra,

as we bumped along from where to where.

“What’s that?” I asked the driver.

“It sounds like reggae, but …”

Ivoirien reggae.”

“Ohhh, that’s why …  ah ha.”

 

On the day I broke my foot,

lost an eye, and didn’t say

“Good morning” to my wife,

Leo, three, grinned at me.

“Grandpa,” he said.

“What is it, my dear?”

“Broccoli Rabe, Broccoli Rasta.”

 

                                                —Ron Singer