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