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:
Yaaay, Gilligan!
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.
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!
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