#284: February 1, 2007

There's sunken treasure strewn along that reef
they call the Graveyard. Well it's earned the name,
with fifty foundered vessels to its blame--
three miles of coral, keen as new sharks' teeth.

The riches in its caves defy belief--
doubloons of Spanish gold and precious stones,
all guarded by drowned sailors' sentry bones
and safe since their descent from any thief.

Though some still try, they always end the same.
Some nights along the beach you hear the groans
of divers clutching wounds that burn like flame.
That poisoned rock, and what else lies beneath,
has turned sweet girls to bitter, widowed crones,
who curse the God that built it, in their grief.