What's the Use
I have a little shack near the water’s edge.
The surf beats its sound into my ears as I go to sleep.
The palm trees are there and the sand is white.
Village bamboo huts rim the bay farther away.
It costs nothing to put my outrigger into the water.
I fish and that is what I eat besides po’e and coconuts.
I’m turning gray now and the years have slipped away.
I try not to remember England and Cary Jean.
I’ve given all that up and I’ll never go back.
Go back to what?
She died and what’s left for me in that English fog?
Another days work scraping together a few more bob?
Today I’ll walk the sand and look for things washed up.
Maybe I’ll find something I can trade for with the natives.
Maybe I’ll just do nothing and rest some more in my hammock.
One day is much like the next.
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