Carmen Miranda's Hat---for the Third Son of Slam |
Shimmying fruits crowded on a tropical hat, a flippant hand finds beneath them in a bash, a woman ripening to be smashed, blueberry dark... chic-a chic-a boom boom chic-a chic-a boom Exotic figs, grapes, “Bananas is my business.” Hop on for the ride. Strawberry edging on a straw brim, pineapples crooning to top an Amazonian full of carioca and black dance for whites. chic-a chic-a boom boom chic-a chic-a boom Banana samba shrinking her to a doll-like, chilled fruit festival. "Guavas?" Yes, on platform shoes doing high kicks, alluring legs, cleavage showing bitter melons, swaying to the band of the moon. A fiery, garish cartoon. chic-a chic-a boom boom chic-a chic-a boom Upbeat magenta raspberries pursing their lips the morning after. The scheme of the fruity theme, apple, plum, and cashew brew for the potent witch; to throw herself in the pot, a nut for a papaya pep-talk of frills and thrills. chic-a chic-a boom boom chic-a chic-a boom Mango to tango, florid femininity in subtle pathos. That tutti-frutti hat with mama under, a talent tapping, bringing laughter to war-torn insides from buried sources, with ghostly images dancing. chic-a chic-a boom boom chic-a chic-a boom Yellow bananas to define her, to confine where dark shadows hide. In the language of the spectrum, only the rejected color dazzles; though, not so fallible, if in peeling the skin with a tender touch, a life has borne some fruit. “E o Mundo Não Se Acabou" (...And the World Hasn't Ended) chic-a chic-a boom boom chic-a chic-a boom. |