Small Money, Big Saturday

How much money?
Not enough
How much room?
Plenty
Small money
Big Saturday

Kojo brings ice in a blue wash bowl
Ama brings chairs from her mother's porch
Kweku brings guitar with five good strings
Esi brings stew and one long spoon
One pot of rice, twelve paper plates
Chicken cut small so everybody tastes
Auntie pins lights along the washing line
Children write the playlist on a cereal box
No velvet rope, no table to reserve
Just one open gate and a borrowed yard
When the highlife guitar finds the first chord
Half the block remembers where we are

Count the coins, don't count the people
Make the circle wider at the gate
If the music reaches one more window
Tell them there is room—don't make them wait

Small money, big Saturday
One pot, six chairs, whole street came
Nothing on the wrist, no famous name
Small money, big Saturday

Small small
Big joy
One plate
Make room
Hands up if your week was heavy
Big Saturday

Across the road, a white tent party
Gold wristbands and a guarded door
Music polished, tables perfect
Still the dance floor stays too clean
One woman hears our guitar answer
Takes off her heels and crosses first
Then two cousins carry over flowers
Someone brings a tray they did not finish
By eight-thirty both sides of the road
Are sharing chairs and learning Grandma's step
The guard from the white tent takes his break
And finds a paper plate beside the gate

Count the coins, don't count the people
Make the circle wider at the gate
If the music reaches one more window
Tell them there is room—don't make them wait

Small money, big Saturday
One pot, six chairs, two parties changed
Nothing on the wrist, no famous name
Small money, big Saturday

Bowl to the left
Left
Spoon to the right
Right
Chair pull back
Back
Make more space
Space
Plate held high
High
Grandma turn
Turn
Open the gate
Wider
Big Saturday

Sunday still has bills
Monday still comes early
The borrowed chairs go home
The blue bowl dries beside the tap
Nobody remembers what we could not buy
They remember nobody waited outside
The richest thing we had that Saturday
Was room

Small money, big Saturday
One pot, six chairs, whole street stayed
Little in the pocket, plenty at the gate
Small money, big Saturday
No velvet rope, but everybody came
We made room, and joy learned every name

Eleven-fifty, plates stacked high
Kweku's fifth string finally gives way
Nobody stops; the neighbors hum the hook
Small money
Big Saturday