eat the grapes i have placed on the tin tray
come sit beneath the palms with me
and entreat me to a verse of metered thoughts
with that gravelly voice of yours
i moved to south India escaping the law
with the colonial police on my case
but sailed Scot free
now i’m shrouded by a tropical mist
which hangs low in the fruit grove
where i pick tangy, red fruit from the leafy eaves
and break the skin with my teeth
as i tiptoe gingerly
around cobra and poison plants
barefoot through the garden
take the fruit from the tree
pass one to me
**originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/24/2014