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I am going swimming I told the man.
Don’t go to Dominica, he said.
You’ll boil up as if you are in a pan.
I thought he was nuts, but I read up.
They do have a boiling lake. 
So I turned over my cup.

The coffee dripped onto the world map and then
I had an inkling to swim in Texas or Ak-Sar-Ben
Jacob’s well sounded great with its underground cave,
But my auntie told me it had been a recent grave.
Apparently many die down there
When they get intrigued and forget to come up for air.

The coffee had slithered across the map pretty good.
What about the Nile? I asked. Fun for sure, if I could.
Crocodiles will kill you, but go anyway, said brother Lee. 
He has always wanted my bedroom, you see. 

The Amazon? I queried, looking at their smug, eager faces.
Piranhas and barracudas, my dad was grinning with braces.
Don’t go to the blue lagoon, said my sister Petonia. 
The alkalinity rate makes it as caustic as ammonia. 

Gulf of Thailand? I asked, watching the coffee seep.
Sure if you want a box jelly fish to stab you deep.
Their sting is so horrible you die of shock.
I decided to swim locally then. I am now standing at the dock.

Staring at the water, wondering about sharks and such.
My feet cringe as I tap them on the top, barely a touch.
I envision an alligator swishing my body away to eat.
I go home, run the faucet, and soak in glorious heat.

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