He swings his torch high and low, <br />piercing the dark undergrowth, green and lush, <br />casting a glow across the swampy places. <br /> <br />Leeches creep onto his laces, <br />and wheedle their way up his trouser legs, <br />these bloodsuckers are the dregs, <br />adhering to the skin on his shin. <br /> <br />They hang on tight. Gee, how they bite! <br /> <br />This tropical location he is in, has become <br />a fixation. Such beauty lit up at night, as parrots <br />take flight, screeching out as they flap their wings, <br />and a tree frog clings to a gnarled old root, <br />eyes staring resolute, tranfixed by the dazzling light, <br />and frozen by fright, until the fear eventually <br />sends him off, to scoff some nocturnal meal, <br />which will appeal to his taste buds. <br /> <br />Suddenly, the light flickers and goes out, <br />and he tries to shout, 'Where is the spare lamp? '. <br />He cannot tramp blind through this wild wood, <br />where there is a likelyhood of predatory reptiles that kill. <br />He feels a chill run down his spine. <br /> <br />And then a sound penetrates his ears. What is this he hears, <br />birds are loudly singing, and his wife is bringing him a cup of tea. <br />He feels all shivery! <br /> <br />It must have been an extreme dream. <br />For no rainforest meets his eyes, just a couple of buzzing flies, <br />and the cries of his children at play, <br />at the awakening of another day. <br /> <br />With a sigh he moans, 'Oh, why should I live in this <br />drab concrete jungle. What a reality, in all its totality. <br />But at least, I suppose there are no snakes, or are there? '.<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/concrete-jungle-2/
