St. Thomas

Sun glistening off the pearly blue-turquoise waves,
A bright red fish jumps from the surf near the reef.

Fake white leather seats on a too clean boat,
That took us from St. Thomas to a tiny island.
Scuba gear loaded,
Lotion amply applied and
Towels and sandals close at hand.
Soon velvet sand squishes
Between sunburned toes and heats
Bare soles that are used to shoes
Hammocks, brightly colored and strung
Like spider webs wait to catch
Unsuspecting visitors between palm trees
When they’ve had too much rum
At the nearby bar
Which is the only building in the island
And isn’t really a building
But a roof, (no walls) and a bar

But the hammocks seem so inviting that I go to lay in one.
It feels like my grandmother’s hammock
Strung between two crab apple trees
In the back of her Northern Michigan Bed and Breakfast.
We would sit and she would rock us with a broomstick.
But here the sun is hot, and the trees are palm, and
I lay by myself in a hammock and rock in the Caribbean breeze.