The coco grove's erratic rattle
signals why the evening tide
brimmed with early whitecaps
is bathing coastal regulars
far above the waistline
splashing worn volcanic faces
with wake-up after-spray.
The pulsing of the strafing surf
all along the curved beach rind
pushes sea-grape bangs awry
but cannot crowd the coqui's throat.
A serpentine train of rain
advancing from the east
scars the sky and scares
a bevy of bananaquits
bouncing leeward on electric air.
A phalanx of friendly crabs
sand-blasted by the gale
breaks loose in retreat, tumbling
upwards toward the tufted ridge.
The menacing lagoon's so smoky
silverside fingerlings look limbo lost.
Trouble is afoot tonight
but my feet won't leave the shore.
*Jouvert 5(2) (March 2001).