In The Botanical Gardens, Kandy

Come and snap the scorpion! Quick, Madame! Rupee and picture do an instant trade The tourist scorpion always on parade Park keeper’s park to supplement his pay. Lovers hold hands and kiss In this pleasure gardens of queens The Mahaweli river skirts around. Hungover monkeys, comatose with heat Slump over branches, toes and tails down dangling Their leader topples a bin, prises the lid ajar Then disappears inside this leavings-larder For take-aways to feed his screeching tribe. Fruit bats drip from the fig trees looking furtive. Deep in the shade of bushes I almost touch A spider, like a breast-brooch made by Cartier Deadly as napalm, shining in its web