CAMPING IN THE PANTANAL

Whilst Seong Whan, a Buddhist monk on leave from his Korean
Temple, tended the fire, Bosco, our guide, switched on his torch,
Pointing it at the far bank. A dozen pairs of red
Eyes, maybe more, glinted back. Caiman, poised in the
Shade of the moon for their nightly fish feast.

Earlier, piranhas had outwitted humans, scooping
Red meat off our fishing lines at will. When the bones of the
Few that had been hooked (Flesh flaky, thin, pallid)
Were thrown back in the river, the water seethed
In a cannibalistic supper snack.

Piranha versus caiman, who wins? Bosco told us that
When the piranha get snappy, the caiman flip over,
Swimming upside down. Get your teeth into that
Scaly back. All through the night there’s the sound of
Reptiles splashing around. Good wholesome fun.

I confess to not sleeping well in the fragile tent. Dreams
Of Mick Jagger being solicitous; an attack dog,
Tethered, caught in its leash, circling in a bid to
Escape. I got up before dawn, watched light return,
Savoured the chorus of a haunting monkey wail.


the pantanal (somewhere within) 24.09.04