Island Secrets

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Bumping along dirt tracks—

Sweet faces standing by corrugated homes, watching.

Luscious green palms swaying high above heads—

On the ground, dust pervades.

Winding further in—

Sanitised estates and gates left far behind.

The dirt track reveals the islanders’ secrets

Creeping into the voyeur’s mind, awareness of Western Sin.

Sparkling clear water—

Thwacking sounds, voices unite in song and laughter.

Children meander, women wash—

Unceasing slapping of fabric on rocks.

Discomfort and dismay expressed to the guide.

He turns with some distaste,

We pity you, imprisoned alone in your cell, feeding insatiable machines.

No wonder your women’s brains are unwell.