|
10:
R.
Zamora Linmark
What the Locals Told Me About the Twelve
Days of Christmas When I First Moved to Hawai‘i
Braddah,
first thing to keep in mind, it’s tutu
Not true love. And the partridge part
Is actually one mynah bird in one papaya tree.
Numbah
two divides the coconut in half.
One for the old, the other for the new.
Numbah
three is for the three North Shore sistahs—
Faith, Hope, and Charity Kahanu—
Who make the best spicy dried squid.
The
fourth, real easy to remember.
Think four plumeria leis. Think Fab Four
From Liverpool. Think four million girls
Losing their heads inside Aloha Stadium.
Five
stay big and fat, like the pigs
Uncle Willy in Waialua wen’ kalua with cabbage.
Six
is the moon, the sun, the stars,
You, me, and the Pacific blue we dream in.
Seven
can be many things, good and bad.
Seven land or seven fiights.
Seven gives and seven takes.
Eight
more specific—ukuleles strumming.
Try listen: G-7. C-7. F.
Numbah
nine is us pounding poi.
Ten
I know you nevah going forget.
Means pau hana time so clock out
And us go Anyplace, corner King and McCully.
Get happy hour specials. Karaoke, too.
Only ½fty cents for everytime we sing.
Eleven
is the numbah of missionaries
Who brought twelve Salvation
Army Trinitron televisions to the islands.
As
for Santa, he nevah changed.
He still imported.
Still Haole on the outside
But enters through the front screen door now,
Bare-foot, and goes, “Ho, ho, ho. Aloha!”
When he passing you by in his red pick-up Datsun.
|
