Remember the valley of sweet lemongrass?
Winding paths curved through blooming lily beds
warm enough to walk barefoot.
No one feared the sharp edge of a hidden rock.
A long picnic table checkered garnet and white,
chilled brown beer flowed from fountains,
burgers somersaulted on spatula trampolines,
the big rock candy mountain licked smooth.
Loin cloths tossed to the breeze.
Sunlight basted them in salty-sweet sweat.
Drowsy, they bathed in cool streams,
washing away the last greasy imperfections.
A song from the herd filled the meadow.
If only they knew the shrill hanging note
waiting to be uttered deep within the cave,
singing, “It’s your misfortune and none of my own.”