Vagabond Beach Bum

He once was a traveler, from asphalt labyrinths,

a head full of seashell dreams.

He discovered palm tree days, in a vacation wonderland,

with beaches licked clean by clear aqua waters.

Island saints with haloes of mist,

rolling hills scarred by deep green valleys.

Outsiders watching wispy white clouds

drift across the sky

like sails on the sea.

Skin bubbled and blistered red,

they wonder, sun-dazed, is this place for real?

Typical tourists with sunglasses and straw hats,

wearing t-shirts boasting Hawaiian phrases

they mispronounce.

“Maui, No Ka ‘Oi!”

Translations long forgotten.

He became a surfer brah,

a bruddah of da wave,

learned to talk story and puff pakalolo.

Slowly he watches time, as it is swept out to sea,

on shifting ocean tides.

He’s become a vagabond,

beach bum, broke-ass buggah,

Got no shoes on his feet,

mouth missing teeth,

a wonky-eyed stare with kinks in his hair.

He lives in a shoddy shelter, hidden in the brush,

with sordid cans and broken bottles,

popped beach balls and mismatched flip-flops.

The strangers pass by with sandy toes and eyes on the horizon,

they keep their eyes to the glittering sea,

focused on the armored backs of sea turtle heads

bobbing above the waves.

— Poetry from December 3, 2013 —