TINY BLUE ISLE

We all live on a tiny blue isle

in a ravening crimson sea

that scours our shore

as storm gales roar

from windward side to lee.

We all live on a tiny blue isle

that shudders against the waves

of scarlet brine

and turpentine

leached from sunk slavers’ graves.

We all live on a tiny blue isle,

that’s smaller, day by day,

as marshland sinks

into that pink

foam sloshing ’round the bay.

We all live on a tiny blue isle,

like a berry in currant crème,

a healthy mote

that stays afloat

in a sticky blood-red stream.

We all live on a tiny blue isle

and work one job, with glee:

we fling blue sand

with spade and hand

to fight that damned red sea . . .

Copyright 2016, J. Eric Smith