The sun beats down on his bare sunburnt neck
he scratches the scab on his arm
he balances in the battered basin - his toy, his joy,
his personal ride and pride
The lake is shallow this time of year
if he takes a spill he'll swim
woe if he tips over in the monsoon tide
for the swollen belly of the lake
could easily swallow a boy of six
this boy in the basin-boat
He waits for the next tourist boat
to bring some hope of change
change for his pocket with a hole
change on his father's face when he ceases to frown
when he sees what his son, barely five,
can net in from tourists that day.
His mother and sibling ride with him
in his father's old fishing boat
there's no fish to be caught these draught-laden months
so a-begging they will have to go;
a desperate mother in dire straights, a baffled baby
and the brave little boy with his slithery snake
"A tip, a tip," their song they sing
"One doh-lar for skool." they chorus
one doh-lar for the snake-boy, the basin boy,
the child of the Tonle Sap.
Note: I received an award for this poem! That is a lovely surprise, and I wish to thank the administrators of Thursday Poets' Rally for this unexpected honour of the Perfect Poet Award.Wow!
Incidental poet that I am
Accidental writer, insecure
Inexperienced, far from sure
of how to woo the words
Out of the closed doors
of my heart
Incidental poet that I am
Declaring, Here I am!
