Malibu and Smokes

Its all about Malibu white rum. That and a pack of cheap cigarillos. No Marlboro reds for us no sir! We don’t smoke that. What you have next is a hike in the jungle. We wouldn’t be up here, our souls are normally like the tide; driven by the beating of the waves. Some mornings I would swear I could wake up and hear the breakers impacting on the beach. I would look up and realize that it was still dark out. To early to surf. Wait another hour. Today there are no waves and that is why we reached that peak. We thought ourselves explorers until we saw that John and Amy had carved their name into the tree and left an empty bottle of beer between some rocks. Someone else had carved a face on the palm fronds. We light up and mix the rum with some cheap juice from the little grocery store a few miles ago. We talk about this and that. Every dream is amplified by a trip. Someday I’ll see that peak again. I may have a bottle of something better than rum and I probably won’t have cigarillos but I’ll still be a dreamer on that rock face.