TROPICAL DOLDRUMS

                                                (A plea to a passing tourist)

            The plans to line the bay with fans

            To start a breeze began with simplicity,

            But in the heat that made us mad,

            We forgot about the lack of electricity.

            Nothing moves this air around.

            Prayer has not budged the stillness.

            Yet we pound the ground in earnest fret

            That we may get a fresh day soon.

            After all, it's the end of June

            When rains should fall

            And bring wonder to us all.

            I wonder if you might not help out,

            As you appear to be on your return trip

            To the States.  Could you ask around for a tip?

            And cheaper rates for winds and relief?

            It's my belief that anything can happen there.

            Could you ship down cool air?

           

            In exchange I'll ask God if He can pay you back.

            My letters may reach Him yet.

            Answers are things that we seldom get.

            I don't know who takes up most of His time--

            The Catholics, Moslems or Protestants.

            Maybe the Hindus or the Jews--they have nothing to lose

            In asking.  Besides, everyone has yens; Buddhists, too.

           

            I often doubt if Bahá'ís can get through;

            Their numbers are so few, and they always ask for

            Abstract whims, such as more than an end to war.

           

            We just want some wind and breeze before this heat

            Can squeeze more drops of sweat from us, and, well,

            If you North Americans can help out,

            We’d be happy to end this drought.

            God gives you everything you want-- money, cars and shoes,

            While we sit with sticks looking for dogs to abuse.

           

            Postscript: 

            Just as our withered bodies shriveled up in pain,

            A storm struck up and blew in a hurricane.

            Now I'm sure that God does not give us what we pray for;

            Out of His endless bounty He gives us ten times more.

           

                        -- C.S. Cholas,   June, 1988, Corozal Town, Belize