Sunday, June 24, 2007

Gilligan, His Island

the last lemon shrinks
by the light of the Tiki fire
between torches stuck in sand
rough hewn table, palm trees
and coconuts

we learn to make do
your red shirt never rips
you never sunburn

your white hat like a little
beacon of surrender
in the woods you
are a constant polka dot

your hammock leaves diamond
marks on your legs
you wake often and fall
but nothing ever breaks
no tooth, no phonograph

every day exactly
like the tour before

3 comments:

Terry said...

Yaaay, Gilligan!

Christine said...

Thanks, Skipper. I just wrote about 4 of these yesterday. Don't know why. I think I was too involved with the Telly when I was child. I used to twist my nose from side to side, thinking I was Samantha the Witch.

Terry said...

I still sing that song of Gilligan's when he dreamed he was the dictator of a little island....."Gee Eye Double Ell, Eye, Gee A En spells Gilligan...."

Wow, I just embarrassed myself!