The one that got away
looking back
like fishermen who tell tales of
the one that got away
18, 19... something like that
wandering randomly and alone through the rain forest
in my t-shirt and shorts
I stumble into a circle of pipe-smokers
with amazing faces
like rock that has weathered a thousand years of sand erosion
ten or fifteen of them
passing the pipe from one to the next
their eyes go down to depths in me unknown to myself
but I sit down with them and smile ridiculously
moving onwards
18, 19... something like that
it does not occur to me to be frightened about anything
wandering randomly and alone through the rain forest
in my t-shirt and shorts...
and my beach sandals
walking from a clearing into an area of dark forestation
I happen to
look back
and there silouetted against the clearing sky
I see I have just walked right under
a spider
whose body area is the size of a junior basket ball
and whose leg span is easily a meter
squatting motionless
on the centre of
a web that spans from the upper trunk of a palm tree on one side
of the path
to the upper trunk of a palm tree on the other side
the fronds of its web look like coarse string
everything is scaled up
just like something I saw as a child trying to get out of the bath
but 50 times as big
still, 18, 19... something like that
it does not occur to me that where there is one
there are likely to be several
and after giving the spider its due respect
for having had the decency to not drop on me
I plod happily on
beside the crocodile infested creek
and out to the deserted sandy shore
that provides a colouring pencil outline
to the north eastern coast
of that extraordinary island
for some reason
which looking back
is inscrutable to me,
I spent a week or so in the rain forest
and did not come to any harm
(I was the one that got away)
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 678 times
Written on 2010-01-22 at 13:40
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