Sun Drunk after Yard Work in Orchidland, Hawaii, 2010

This island altered
Shifted its borders,
Eaten its mates, drowned
Its smaller brothers.

From a satellite,
Only clouds and wind
Toll the sorry state
Of affairs that found

Shanty tin roofed towns.
On the wet outskirts
Grow dragon fruit lines,
Coffee bean culverts,

And up and coming
Cacao.  Every
Cash crop producing
Year round, some on free

Abandoned acres
In coastal jungle.
Politic punched, cars
Rev through the jumble

Of hills and grassland.
We’re here carving
Our homes, hands in sand
And cinder, digging

Display graves to hold
Porous lava rock
As stepping stones held
Like museum stock

Artifacts and black
Fleshed mummies.  Ocean
Breathes a mosaic
Master’s tempered groan.

This island altered.
And as its borders
Blood let, its surfaced
Gut gives out its stores.

David L. Paxton has been published in Electric Cereal, New Bourgeois, Splizz, Purple Pig Lit and The Dead Snakes. He received his Masters of Arts Administration from Savannah College of Art and Design, currently residing in Middleburg, Florida as an independent arts professional, curator, chef, painter and poet.