We bumped up the mountain in Ghoul Ricki’s 4 X 4
& parked by a choppy tarn. Lady Aegis disrobed for a dip
and me and Ghoul went too.
I wanted to surf but the waves weren’t big enough and Ghoul told me
if I wanted big waves I had to think big waves, so I thunk a big wave
and by and by one came along.
I saw it cresting from far, and posed for the paddle ride
fast fast fast up up up, flying off the fluorescent foam tip,
past the pebbly beach, over some pine trees, and SPLASH!
onto a soft mattress. We dried in the cold wind,
ate sandwiches, and hopped back on the bounce,
revving the bare hypotenuse.
I didn’t like Ghoul Ricki. He was too cocky.
He went on about his hotel, how only a select few were allowed in.
He had to be in charge of everything, especially the animal sacrifices.
However, he admitted the hotel wasn’t his idea.
A woman from Cuernavaca told him to build it.
We drove vertical for a time, steeped in vapour.
When we emerged above the cloud, a retired lumberjack greeted us
at a fork in the road. He had the gift of seeing how people were going to die.
He looked at me and said, “You’re natural,” so I dove off a cliff,
morphed into a manta ray and glided past the villages,
smiling at the people and the fires they burned in the wet, green valley.
