It wasn’t what I expected
when I walked among the Mangrove trees.
Equatorial salination playing tricks
with a mind set in the hubbub of latte and fumes.
A desire to lounge on equatorial beaches
where grasses sprout in tufts
and huts the colour of rust, just a hint of green
on the other side of a coin tossed to decide the destination.
Life lived by the toss of a coin,
a roll of the dice, direction east or west
decided when blindfolded and
spun and spun – and spun
until dizzy –
until dizzy – dizzy – collapsing
from lack of substance among the longed for,
wished for Mangrove trees.