The Prey

Camouflaged by colorful decoys
Friendly questions
That bounce on the surface of the soft beach breezes
It approaches again.

His eyes and teeth smile their whiteness like ice
Against the darkness of skin and the night

And I don't see the silver edge of motivation
Lying beneath, patient, as I banter back with smiles.

I am bleached white, a sand dollar
Scooped out of the depths of the ocean
And laid out under the sun.

He knows if he breaks me he can touch those delicate white birds
Flying frozen under my fragile shell.
He wants to free them to catch them.

He laughs, suddenly, and it catches in the moonlight,
Blinding me for a moment
A flash of harshness in his tongue.
The glint of the metal sharp hook

I retract in time.
It doesn't embed in my skin.
But it scratches and stings
And always surprises.

It all is a decoy
To catch
The prey am I.

This poem was written during our stay in beautiful Bali. Over the last twenty or so years, Bali has become the tourist center of Indonesia. Consequently, many of the Balinese have turned to tourism for their livelihood. Hawkers litter the streets, coming to you nonchalantly with smiles, innocent, it seems, of other motivation. Just to talk, you think. Sometimes they carry hints--small bags, an arm behind their back, a basket on their heads. You can imagine then, the silver watches that line the bags, the bracelets draped along the hidden arm, the fruit atop the head. But often, too, they come empty handed, the trap in their words--information they possess. So amid questions innocent--Where do you come from?, natural--Where are you staying?, friendly--What's your name?, they casually toss, "Did you know about the bull fight tonight?" or "Have you been dolphin watching yet?" and you realize at once they come not to talk but to sell.