For Marty who turned me on to Billy Collins and for Billy for getting me back on track in the tropics
Most days heat welds words to the page
making it impossible to lift them
and savour their subtleties
exhausted from my daily game
of dodgeball with the sun;
the swaying fronds of palm trees my only friends.
But this morning, after the rain,
laying on my still damp, blue and white stripey sun lounger
with only a pretty pink bikini separating us
Billy’s words dance from the page
with the rhythm of the soft calypso music
drifting up from the beach
and as they drench my parched senses I realise
that their deliciousness is matched only
by the cool coconut milk sliding down my chin.