Green Coconut Milk with Gin

You kind of have to know how young city mothers pat their children’s buts in admonition to understand, but I saw exactly that one day long ago in Christianstedt. I was walking back, in early morning I guess, still drunk probably but those soursops called to me. I had my own swagger then and had no doubt about its affect, but as I walked the curb ahead there was a mother with her daughter stepping hand in hand. A man, a Rastafarian, passed us on horseback saddleless as slow as Conquistador upon smoldering city. Hair down to his trousers, slouching to the clop clop clop of hooves.
With mischievous sincerity the little girl spoke upward…. “Mommy, when I grow up I want to marry a Rastafarian”.
I hope she has.