the tribe left years ago
while their crops still fruited
and Umberto the gold prospector
slipped away squalidly
to some other piece of fortune
and whoever happened to be around
dug him into a damp
hallowed malarial mound….
Umberto never found
much gold
and the Wa-na-na nation
moved downriver, got tee-shirts and flu
and died out
but you and I came, pale, protected
in jungle boots and close-weave khaki
and moist with a lust grown faraway
and we brought it here
and we were so hot together
we didn’t even need to undress
to make a happy ending