Hawaiian Tropic

Criminy Christmas!  No Internet!  I am choleric.
I loath the loss, but since I am here in Hawaii,
this loss should not be so severe, not too strict.
You bet I will find things to do--I shall not cry.

Hours will not crawl; nay, they may indeed rush
aside the tropical breezes off Diamond Head, a
lasting Pacific push of atmosphere wherein the curl
looks inviting to me, that bend of water; white roil.

Did I mention I that I am a surfer?  I am indeed!
Each of us has a calling, a recreational bent, a niche
clear as skies atop Mauna Loa (a site volcanic),
lest we fall to stagnation like that old boy Jack...dull.
Ah, to surf, I say!  And who needs the Net at sea?
Reach me no mouse as I catch a wave, nor
entreat the Internet gods any attempt to save face!
Shall one week without Internet suffice?  Yes!

I am beach savvy, non-Internet lad--surfing my alibi!
No, I shall not want.  It leadeth me beside the main,
this seven day hiatus from world wide web--well, shit!
Eat me promises crammed, eat me toast, burnt rye!
Relax, I say; be one with the ocean, for she is Mother.
Next to Google Chrome, the ocean is precious kin.
Early will I be, each day, one Diamond Head devotee.
They declared it, you know; City Hall...the government.

24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
5-13-16