The driver said Bomba's was gone.
I said take me anyway.
Taxi dropped me where the road turned mean
Goats chewing rope in the dry afternoon air
Driver said "Bomba? Man, you're chasing a dream"
Then crossed himself and wouldn't take my fare
He showed me where the path ran thin and black
A half-wall standing, tin roof mostly gone
Said "last one that came here just came for the shack"
Said "the shack ain't there — but what it was goes on"
Cappoons Bay had the moon half-broken
Tin roof flashing like an old gold tooth
Somebody's flip-flop on a post for a token
Somebody's story trying to pass for truth
I asked three men and a woman selling limes
Got four shrugs and five completely different years
One said "Closed," one said "Burned" — three different times
One said "Boss, you can still hear"
The bar that wasn't there still poured one more
Bomba Punch still stained on a vanished floor
I heard laughter coming through the broken tin
Some places close but never quite give in
A faded bra hung from a mangrove limb
Doing time for somebody's bad bar night
Old man smoking by a busted cooler's brim
Said "You want history or what happened right?"
I said "Aren't those mostly the same thing?"
He laughed so hard the dogs started in too
Said "Full moon used to make this whole beach swing
You'd wake up married to a stranger's hat — that's true"
The driver was still waiting — not a cent on the clock
Said "not a place anymore, boss — it's a fever that's known"
I asked him what it costs — he said "can't pay for the shock"
"But you paid something walking in — check what you brought of your own"
Nothing on the sign but the name half gone to rust
Bomba Punch still staining what remained of the floor
The whole place made of weather and of salt and of trust
That something sacred doesn't close when you lock the door
The bar that wasn't there still poured one more
Bomba Punch still stained on a vanished floor
I heard laughter coming through the broken tin
Some places close but never quite give in
Now I'm not saying I saw anything. Not officially.
But the bottle was cold when I picked it up.
And there wasn't a cooler plugged in for miles.
A man learns not to argue with certain kinds of hospitality.
I stood there for a while with the sun going low
The shack was mostly weather by then — mostly sea
Heard something like a party from somewhere below
Or above — or nowhere — wherever it wanted to be
The bar that wasn't there still poured one more
Bomba Punch still stained on a vanished floor
I heard laughter coming through the broken tin
Some places close but never quite give in
The driver said "Find what you came here for?"
I said "Not exactly." He said "Good. That's how you know."
He crossed himself and wouldn't say much more
As Cappoons Bay was swallowed by the road below
Some things aren't a story — just a place that clings
To the people who came looking and went home wrong
Behind us something laughed from under everything
And Cappoons Bay went quiet after one last song