{in honor of my dear PNG friends, about whom I do not think nearly enough}
Stepping gingerly, we avoided gaps and
rotted wood as we walked
along the walkway kept suspended above
the waters of the Pacific by resting on
knotted fallen tree trunks.
A tropical drizzle began, only
uncommon for those of us not native.
Way over there, a walkway separated
from us by the sea, three young boys knew
what to do. Instant nudity, as they stripped
off clothes with abandon and decency
under their mother's clothesline.
When they saw our pale faces,
they shouted and jumped. We gave
them our full attention, and so they performed
with joy, splits, naked legs wide on the rotting
platform. We laughed and clapped, the universal
language of appreciation, and so they jumped up
and did it again. And again. In the rain.
And we were all happy for a moment.
I'm really enjoying your poetry (which for me, non-poet that I am, is a pretty profound concession). I like how clean and clear it is -- like prose that has somehow found itself melded into poetic form.
ReplyDeleteAnd this piece, for obvious reasons, brings me great joy. :)