I Want A Refund!

The vines grow deep and twisted
‘round the trees
and mosquitoes have no conscience,
not one speck of mercy
here in this swamp.

The fog is so thick and gray
like old soup
‘never been stirred’
and while my guide is a Creole giant,
he’s no match for that
brown-toothed voodoo woman
bleeding chickens in her hut.

He paddles on, slow as a lazy turtle
while our rotting boat floats way down stream
and I see the eyes of that sneaky gator
peering with his damn tail twitching
as he licks his chops.
Who hired this guy, anyway?!

Slowly he pokes the long stick
into the muddy bottom
to move us on downstream
before the night falls.
I have no nails left from scratching.
Dear God, what was I thinking?
“See the world . . . eat with the natives”
I think the natives have other plans for dinner!
(and I’m one of them)

Something tells me
there’s no Club Med around here.
What the HELL was I thinking?

Joanne Cucinello 2007