Along the blood road there are thousands of ponds.
Carved out by American bombs.
A futile attempt to blast communism
into the next millennium.
It'll take a hundred years to remove
unexploded ordinances.
Children mistake them for shiny toys.
Every day is black Christmas for children
who play along the blood road.
The metal from war doesn't go to waste.
The skin of bombs is made into skiffs.
That putter around the delta mist.
Some taking in round-eyed tourists...
Who're eager to see how a poor communist lives.
More often than not they'll be invited into a hut
provided a humble, heartfelt meal.
Sometimes by a widowed one-armed matriarch.
Today, the blood road is being devoured by jungle.
Natives still slave over rice paddies.
Just like they have for a thousand years.
And will for a thousand years more.
Some of the bomb ponds hold trapped fish
where villagers toss hopeful nets...
and who said war is good for nothing?
Round eyed cat studies the merits of the day
Meanders through a labyrinth of thorny grass
Four legged wildebeest never knew what hit it
The water is so cool and refreshing by the by
Heads hang low over the over populated location
An oasis in a vast jungle of limited mobility
The beast takes a humble sip in mixed company
With terrified flamingos, witnesses, birds with feathers
Still intact, at rest, but in fear for what comes next
Many species bow as if in prayer when tiger attacks
Teeth sink into the neck with shocking precision
Crocodiles count their blessings
Pink birds flap away in a panic as claws dig deeper
Spider monkeys scratch themselves in private places
Without thinking twice, they are afraid to drink
And make perfect O shapes with skinny lips
Howling, running in circles, frantic with hysteria
Their only friend
fig tree on round isle
forces imminent response
a round-eyed delight
2/26/2015
Watching little crabs scuttle out of holes building fences of round wet sand bricks.
A long necked long legged white crested round eyed sentinel watches a line of pelicans sliding on wind currents
caused by condos.
The sound of constant traffic on this fish pier of a highway that used to be a railroad before a hurricane gave it last rites
Just sitting in the shade of red and ragged trees on a foldup chair that almost sits in sand looking out at different pastel
shades of green, blue, sparkled aquamarine water. Here and there they're wading ankle deep with children splashing
madly in their rushing joy of life.
further out are fishing boats testing secret holes at least to them and farther still a freighter stubbornly dawdles
northward
White clouds follow each other up towards the glades offering shade to sun blackened alligators who want no part of it
laying on the banks of flooded grass
swept in uniformity by sweet fresh water, and everywhere there is life laidback and free as only crackers know. Living
in the moment and sleepy eyed readiness of sudden change.
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