thrumming chit-chit sprinklers hum
mistaken for operatic crickets
trilling lazy resort air
as wrinkled splayed foot reptiles
bow iguana heads like regal buddhists
slowly roaming nirvana
crossing thached pagodas
unconscious tourists lounge beneath
hung-over to the gills
foamed in aloe extracts
next to the kidless kidney pool
no one ever swims in.
free for a week
to sip rum from pinapples
bludgeoned with straws
wear funny shirts and
if their not fighting
practice the art of love
they somehow always
seem to lose the knack of
back in
ice bound
***
BY NEIL BROSNAN
BITTER POEMS: Paradise
