COCONUT

The hot Malaysian sun
Beats down on my bare chest
As I glance up from Hemingway's
The Snows of Kilimanjaro
To see an exotic woman
Walking towards me
Through banana trees
Her breasts
As full as the ripe coconuts
A man is cutting from high up in a tree
With wide swaths of his machete
As a curious monkey watches

I don't have my camera with me
It's in the hut by the mango trees
Overlooking the lagoon
There is no protection from mosquitoes
But, it does offer shade
Safely away from the burning sun

I contemplate getting the camera
But, it's just too hot to move
As my sweat drips on the pages
And sticks to them
Making the story
Thicker than it already is

If I did have my camera
I would capture
The shadow and shade
Surrounding her eyes
The contours and contrast
Engulfing
The deep curves of her hips
The light dancing across
Her hot brown skin
As she saunters by
My American gaze
Smiling
With humble provocation
Perhaps
Burning deep inside
To set free
Every constraint of her culture
In one sweeping motion...

The machete stops me
As the man descends from the tree
And offers me a cool drink of milk
From the hairy tropical nut
He just cracked open
And now
The light is past
The moment a memory
The sun is at her back
As I watch her walk past
Laughing children
Taking durians from a tree
And as I watch her walk
Further still
Into the shadows of the mountains
It seems that centuries of subjugation
By the Chinese
Arabs
British
Japanese
Conquest of everything
By whomever foreign
Could steal their tropical soul
For a moment
Chains her ever so effectively
To a prison
She doesn't even know exists
To my great sadness