KAANAPULI, KANAPULA

                        Now, gentlemen, the environment.  It needs refining.

                        Take the grass.  It’s too green, too intense.  Too real.

                        Lawns have gotta come up to par.  Shaved like putting greens.

                        Another thing:  mountains smoking with mist are passé.

                        Our clients might think it’s cane burning off.  Or the Second Coming.

                        So I want stretch condos, wall-to-wall, backs to the sun,

                        Shaping up like some kinda shield.  That sun’s brutal.

                        Hawaiian huts are definitely out.  They’re too crude.

                        Got that?  Wake up, you guys.  Don’t screw up on me.

                        We need a focus, a theme . . . something out of Michener.

                        Get me a skeleton of a whale.  I don’t care what kind.

                        Some big-boned Super Jaws, Moby Dick, whatever.

                        Whaddya mean ‘Grim shore freaks! . . . Scrimshaw what?

                        Listen, wise guy, do you want this or don’t you?  For mine,

I want restaurants that sail like music bowls across a lake.

                        With classic columns, concrete Dionic, so that the air can breathe. 

                        I want flamingos, whole bunches of them,

                        Posing in the pink on island bars.  Like hula girls at a luau.

                        And talking of the Japanese market,

Toss some koi into the pools, but put the word around:

Strictly not for distribution to sushi bars.

By the way, swans may be a tad downmarket, 

But throw in a raft of ducks for junior.

And landscape some grottoes, splashy waterfalls,

Roman fountains that drip with romance.

This resort is gonna be the Alhambra of the Pacific.

Forget the beach.  Nah, nah, it’s a no-go area.

Six feet out, there’s a shelf of coral that’s sheer dynamite,

With a cutting-edge that’ll slice a goddam limb in two.

Then there’s the drop-off.  Nah, it’s too risky.

We can compensate with leaping stone dolphins,

Giant toads that smile Have A Good Day!

Know what?  These islanders have a cute saying:

Never turn your back on the sea, otherwise

You might get blown right out the water. 

Hey, something else:  Exterminate those coconut palms!

If a nut crushes your skull, that’s instant litigation.

What’s more, palms leave too much trash.

Floras, guys.  I want unreal colours.  Awesome colours.

Hibiscus is safe.  What’s the name of that protea stuff?

Flame tits?  Yeah, flame-tipped.  That’s cool.

And find me some parrots that speak in tongues.

They can all be franchised to photo nuts.

Another thing:  those rocks.  They’re grotesque, man.

Doze them to sand for the runway extension.

Goddammit, we’ll have this place civilized in no time!

                                                            Michael Small

June 1992

                        published Pelt, no.8, Australia, September, 2002