Going Coconuts

The sun fries periwinkles, and the sand
makes even cockles sweat. I’ll get too tanned
here on this pixel circled by the sea.
I hope somebody comes to rescue me.

I’ll promptly parch without a drop to drink.
If rain fills up my pail, the rats will think
the water’s theirs. I’ll hang it on a tree!
Is someone on the way to rescue me?

My boat’s propellor blades, machete-keen,
will help me open coconuts — cuisine
of steamy desert islands (always free).
I miss you, love, please come and rescue me.

Just off the beach some black-faced blenny flashin’
induces me to see if I can fashion
my oar into a spear. Fish, please don’t flee!
I hope you show up soon to rescue me.

The stonefish will not scupper my bold mission;
I’ll wear my boots while out there blenny-fishin’.
O bless this isle! For supper I’ve caught three.
How is it no one’s come to rescue me!

It’s now been days. No, weeks. Have I had water?
Now what’s that drawing into shore? An otter?
A mermaid? Yes. To keep me company?
Or is that you who’s come to rescue me?

Walking along the surf and listening to
the squawks and chirps of tropicbirds, we view
the slumping sun, discern a manatee.
At last my darling’s come to rescue me.

I didn’t see the yellowish brown snake
which sprung and bit and left a deadly ache.
Are you the snake, dear? Come, sit on my knee
(since no one’s yet arrived to rescue me).

Night’s ghostly visage glimmers on the ripples
of the lagoon and, through the palm leaves, stipples
the sand. I see you there and, hopefully,
before I gnaw the rats, you’ll rescue me.