The Colour of Music
Whitey plays his steel drums on the pink sands of Elbow Beach. He cannot see the teeming mass of sunbathing bodies, but he knows they are getting his vibrations. Occasionally he catches a burst of applause and a request for The Banana Boat Song, which he ignores
His friends think he’s crazy, beating away in the blasting heat, “Why you do it?” they ask.
Whitey shrugs, “s’good man,” his generous mouth opens in a white smile.
They wouldn’t understand if Whitey told them it’s better than ganja; seeing the colours of the music. If he told them he sees turquoise and amethyst as he plays One Love, and golden shades of autumn when he plays Buffalo Soldier. Not red but a gleaming silver when he plays Red, Red Wine and glorious purple when he plays Pass The Kouchie. Licking Stick smothers everything in emerald green and No Woman No Cry, is the yellow of tansy.
At the end of the day with his head full of colour, Whitey kicks back on his porch with a bottle or two of Red Stripe, and then and only then, does he hear the music he has played all day.
© SB Borgersen April 2011
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