I sit by these backwaters, in expectation,
Dip my hand in the coolness of brackish blue and moss green,
Small fish nibble at my toes in affectionate tickle,
Houseboats glide past waving their oars at me,
The pearl spot fish eye me shy, each afternoon,
Evening hours, I sit here under the neighbor’s coconut tree,
Round the mud mound and caving bend, the four o clock boat surfs slow
As I struggle to inter- lock coconut leaves into an orb,
A substitute for my lost tennis ball,
Which my angry friend threw in a fit,
Over the wall of dried, shriveled coconut husks,
It rolled into the water, skidded, sadly drifted away,
Mom said I might get a new one, with Dad’s next salary.
Earlier, I hoped for my tennis ball to float back,
Now, I wait for my friend to return.