Dominos

I walked up to them and their game.

It was on East Road at South Concourse
In Fairmont Park.

It was behind a rusted, beat up, white Ford van
That they had a busted, beat up card table folded crookedly
Off level
Four players at a time
With about 8 onlookers waiting their turn
And more pulling up and parking on the side of the street.

They had worn plastic coolers and were drinking.

The group was loud and surly.

Big black hands shielded ivory tiles from view.

“Dang! I ain’t seen this since Puerto Rico!”
I said.

“Puerto Rico!”
One of them yelled at me.

“Nah. This is Jamaica mon.”
Another told me proudly.

“They play dominos everywhere down there! The city, the beach. It’s the national sport
besides baseball. Shit! They’re into dominos, I’m telling you!”

“Nah mon. We donnah pley like dem.”
“Eet’s deeferont.”

They all started laughing loud
From deep inside their guts.
It was baritone
Hollow
Echoey laughter.

They offered me a beer.

A cold dripping ghetto fourty, shorty.

“What? No Red Stripe?”
I asked.

More deep laughter
Went around the group.

I stood and hung out with them
While they played dominos.

I could tell that they were ribbing on each other
And dissing
But
Between their dialect
And the speed at which they spoke

I understood little of what they said actually.

It had been years since I drank malt liquor.

I got a buzz on with them
As they laid down their tiles.

The group became bigger
And to the newcomers
I was in question
The only gringo present
With my pink shirt
And white pants
And fucked up hair.

But we got along well
Shooting the shit
On a breezy August evening.

I announced
That I was going into
Chinatown
To get some dinner.

“Why mon?”
“There’s a Chinese take-away right over 'dere.”
One of them told me
Pointing his long black boney arm over to
Parkside Avenue
One block over.

I could tell that it was
A hole in the wall
Greasy
MSG laced joint.

I couldn’t tell the difference
Between
Jamaican dominos
And Puerto Rican dominos.

But I could tell the difference
Between the Chinese food
Served at the Parkside Avenue
Chinese take-away
And the healthy, delicious Chinese food
That I would order in China Town.

“Nah.”
I said.
“I’m going in.”

“You play?”
One of them asked.

“It’s been awhile.”
I replied.

“We be here ‘til dark if you wanna come back.”

“Bring back some ‘dem eggrolls, mon.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the beer.”

“It was cool hanging with you all, but I don’t think I’ll make it back before dark.”
“Seriously.”

“You’re just afraid to play a Jamaican.”

“Nah dude. I’ve been playing with Jamaican’s since I got here.”
I held up my can in a peaceful salute.

More rowdy laughter.

I walked away in the dusk
Listening to tiles being shuffled
And loud Jamaicans
Going on with what they do
On a Friday night.