The Waskie Fruit Tree

A Remote South East Asian Jungle

Take light footsteps if nature is not to punish you THE WASKIE FRUIT TREE

A single bead of sweat grew On his brow It glistened then descended Down the strong features Between the eyes that had seen it all Taking a detour round the nose broken On the playing fields of Eton Set and rebroken Across the worldly curl where Top and bottom lips met Caught by the stubble of his manly jaw Momentarily stationary, then Falling, absorbed by the T-shirt That clung to his hirsute simian chest Proclaiming Seen it, done it, got the sweat marks And Fitzroy had never known such fear What were they doing deep in this savage jungle To see the unique flowering of the Waskie Fruit Tree Was perhaps never meant to be The shaman’s words ringing in his ears He who is witness first tastes the flower of death Dismissed by this super confident, present-day boys comic book hero, public school educated with ample private income, family, and comfortable lifestyle, as bunkum The man who now stood motionless Like some ancient idealised sculptured form Waiting to be toppled by barbarians As the civilisation it symbolised meets decline Held in the gaze of a reptilian stare Any move almost certainly his last His destiny shared by his faithful teddy bear Fitzroy Now experiencing moments of extreme self-awareness Was he not really just kapok and furry fabric Said to have been stitched skilfully by a maternal granny A couple of beads for eyes, stitching for nose and mouth Given to this frozen hero on his third birthday Not much use in these situations Well, sometimes it feels so damned useless Being a teddy bear So they waited it out The slightest movement Would signal the end And Fitzroy left to perish To be quickly taken by the savage jungle’s hand Never again to share the camaraderie of the playroom Never again to disembark at Heathrow Terminal 5 Never again to see his fair homeland And then the exclusive show began From their royal box in the humid jungle hell The sticky Waskie bud trembled oh so lightly Was this the prelude to its opening, flowering As it starts its journey to resplendence A drama, that having commenced, must end in release or tragedy Then encore, another movement, this time stronger Caught the cold and murderous eye of the reptile The neck turned slowly with intent The tongue drawn back and then unleashed Took the bud and swallowed it whole And then to fulfil the shaman’s prophetic words Dropped dead at the plucky adventurers’ feet.