Into the Swamp

The mango grove hums, insects sing in the scratchy thrum, the wet-lead air. Knee-deep, the water sweats a dark smudging fear. We are a party of four, four machetes, four slouch hats, four men looking for reasons. Trailing tendrils snatch at us, lacerate skin and courage. After a few hours we are drained, barely speaking just wading our way inwards, all four longing for that tropical beach bar and the girl we left behind it.