South Pacific

walking point

in the heat of the day

almost pointless

as the clown juggles his fate

with his hair pumped tangerine orange

and his shoes pointed, too,

toward cyber space

or perhaps the 18th hole of his perfect golf course, 

or his Space Force

where Guardians of the Galaxy

wear the insignia of Doctor Bones.

when sunlight strikes, 

he hears traffic noise he cannot see

from inside a room he cannot leave,

while i read the news from the South Pacific:

a volcano threatens with a rumble of smoke

and island natives run with their many bare feet

walking point

in the heat of the day

splashing into a blue lagoon before the sudden tsunami

finally rushes their beach,

swallowing the Whale of a Good Time Bar,

ruining a new year's party,

all foreign tuxedo and tawdry smiles posing from the upper floors,

sipping privilege from big crystal bowls.

the natives glance, briefly,

rushing to escape,

speaking a tongue learned from an early age

when their childish eyes were clear,

their faces alert and bright with hope,

as the clown juggles his fate

with his hair pumped tangerine orange

and his shoes pointed, too,

walking point

in the heat of the day.