Rubarni the Bonking Baker of Jamaica
Sound Advice (2):
(If you have a sweet tooth,
Than please head this warning.
Brush your teeth, twice daily.
In the night and the morning.)
Sticky puddings, cakes and current buns,
None have a place in the Jamaican Sun.
Yet one baker found fame, (a now whispered name)
A cheery chuckling fellow with a love of chocolate –
To the islands came Rubarni and set up his shop.
Fresh baked loaves, torts and lattic topped pies,
An abundance of cream pastries, fudge brownies,
To tempt passers by.
But only one customer, the eternal sun,
Licked at each and every well risen sponge.
And by nine thirty-two doughnuts nothing more,
Than sticky, melted goo upon the baker´s floor.
Despite his smile, jovial calls.
Not a single customer passed through his doors.
And all proclaimed :-
“In this sweltering Jamaican Sun
Who would craves cakes and current buns?´”
At the end of the day he´d pack up his wares,
Not a single cupcake sold, but what did he care?
Rubarni knew what needed to be done,
So each night in stride with the setting sun,
(Husband´s away, toasting the catch of the day)
He took his goods to would-be-customer´s doors –
Charming wives with his caramels treats,
Ladies seduced by delectable eats.
Tarts sampled at the kitchen table,
And next to the bedroom,
Resist the baker they were unable.
For it was as though yeast flowed through his testosterone,
The way he could make the women moan.
And amidst night breezes came ecstatic cries,
´Rubarni, Rubarni you truly are,
The bonking baker of Jamaica!´
With the moon still waning in the sky,
Lover´s letting slip satisfied snores and sighs
Rubarni to his ovens would go.
Before cock´s first crow.
The sole trace of his illicit presence
Sugar frosting upon the sheets,
The faintest whiff of finest vanilla essence.
So this continued for a year and a day,
Rubarni baking and bonking and baking away.
Until all the women had a sugared glint in their eye.
Every man was proudly slapping his thigh.
And each mother-to-be found they had an insatiable craving,
A sweet tooth hitherto unknown,
For pastries, cakes and sugar coated loaves.
The bakery heaved with queues to the door,
Gateauxs greedily guzzled, bonbons addictively nibbled.
The shop bell ceaselessly chiming,
While the sun continued shining.
In nine month´s time the island´s population was booming,
Babies more beautiful, proud parents blooming.
Each newborn perfection,
Rich, cocoa complexion,
Temperaments sweeter than the finest confection.
Smiles sugar bright,
Bouncy babies well-risen,
Yet surprisingly light.
To meet demands Rubarni worked all the day,
After the sun set,
He had no time to play.
For it was to his ovens he went,
Ceastlessly, endlessly baking away.
“That´s it!” he cried,
“My work here is done,
I must follow the sun.
To distant shores with my cakes and current buns.”
And as he swept up last crumbs
He was heard to say,
“Ó Rubarni, Rubarni you truly are,
The bonking baker of Jamaica´.
But our tale´s not over,
For as I´ve said before
The Jamaican sun
Is no place for cakes and current buns.
Slowly the children melted away.
The sole trace of their presence.
In cots, prams and cradles,
A fine frosting upon the sheets,
And the faintest whiff of finest vanilla essence.
The lesson of this story is clear to say,
A love for sugar can cause only decay.
Beware of a sweettooth, and more so the charms,
Of men with caramelized words and large doughy arms.