Into the Swamp
The mango grove hums,
insects sing in the scratchy thrum,
the wet-lead air.
Knee-deep, the water sweats
a dark smudging fear.
We are a party of four,
four machetes,
four slouch hats,
four men looking for
reasons.
Trailing tendrils snatch at us,
lacerate skin and courage.
After a few hours
we are drained,
barely speaking
just wading our way
inwards,
all four
longing for
that tropical beach bar
and the girl
we left behind it.
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