A Tropical Wish

Here in the stale, computerized air of the office 
A tropical wish sends my mind aflight, 
Off to distant shores where the sea kisses the sand, 
Flinging the smell of ocean spray at my nose. 
Parrots of many colors flock over marble palisades, 
Scissoring through tree fronds off the shore, 
Where sands of white quartz glitter around the bay 
Like a tiara built by the eons of sea-wash. 
I can see dogs out there surfing over the waves, 
Wearing sunglasses and little water shorts, 
Their tongues hanging off their jaws, 
As if they'd just had a steak tossed at their feet. 
Monkeys play catch on the beach with bananas 
They stole from unwitting spectators along the shore. 
One of them gets squeezed out of its peel 
After being caught, flies up into the air and lands 
In the mouth of the nearest raving primate. 
Others are sailing in banana boats off in the distance; 
Perfectly fitting, but perhaps a shade too surreal. 
Babes in 2-piece lycra bikinis launch volleyballs 
Off the wet wrists of their sweat-tanned bodies, 
Bouncing the balls upwards like the lofty breasts 
Fixed in bouyancy between their arms. 
Children ride on toothless mako sharks 
Who wouldn't eat them even if they could, 
As flying fish hurdle over them singing old sea songs 
By using the dripping amplifiers of their gills. 
Sand castles made by the labor of mighty oysters 
Rise proudly into the briny breeze, as ignorant 
Of their weakness as a dictator is to his people. 
The sun is high; it beats off the hay-strewn roofs 
Of refreshment stands and vacant summer chairs, 
Casting shadows for margaritas and pina coladas 
That relax in the shade, cooled by bar ice, 
Waiting to be drunk by some thirsty swimmer. 
 
I soak it all in, this wonderful scene of strangeness, 
Thinking about how much fun it would be 
If things like these happened where I work. 
But here there are no singing fish, 
No children racing surf-dogs in the water, 
No models chatting secretly about how good I look; 
Nothing so remotely exciting or vivid or colorful. 
This is no St. Tropez, Jamaica, or Bora-Bora; 
This is only the dull prison of another sterilized office 
Monitored by the steady droning of computers, 
Each operating according to a set of rules 
That are so eerily similar to the yes/no, go/stop, on/off 
Rules of civilization, that they may as well have replaced us.