This Habitat


Aged fronds withered,
torn from stem, shed
& forced down by gravity
like scales. They litter
& crack transform to grey
and rusty zinc. They're
blown by wind, whirled,
tossed far away settle down
in despair to build a mounds.

A dry and dusty day,
the atmosphere's in somber
mood. These fronds are sometimes
loose and not in harmony ...
Blinking eye of the sun
wades in the horizon
overhead plants summoning
grief. When I look, the shrubs
are thirsty, in dire need
of aqua splash.

Now, the characteristics
of this habit, if it was human
would be stale, sometimes
walk around wearily, yawn
and yearn for moisture,
their mouth agape, half way
open, a dry, dry, humid
habitat! I look up to
the yawning, groaning
weather and they say
'hey, yeah, we're in the
tropics.'

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This Poems Story

A dry, humid tropical vegetation with palms shedding their leaves is observed as recorded by speaker.