João Ricardo crouches at dusk on the crest of one of the sand ridges which jut into the sea along the east coast of Olhos de Agua / wearing his thick-soled multicoloured flip-flaps / skinny jeans half-length to the top of the knee / and a dull beige shirt / two breast pockets with big flaps / the collar large with rounded points / body tapered / sleeves rolled / there you see him / facing the sea / last light of day seeping from the right / just enough to illuminate what he is doing / torn flattened cardboard box at his feet / cigarette lighter / polythene pouch of dry rich green leaves / long serrated edges curling against themselves / extra large cigarette paper between his nimble fingers / all orange irridescent in this light / this light / this light / gathers a big full pinch o leaves from the pouch and lines them on the paper / you done this before? nod to the obscure horizon / last leaves now / tapping the dust from the pouch / and round we roll our joint they call it / world wide rebellion / poor lambs from the empty cigarette paper packet he tears a strip to roll and insert as end-piece filter / the traditional way / the other end is twisted to a point / last joint always brings mixed feelings / pleasure sullied by resentment / he is young / this is his first last / through all this lingers for you and me if we care to concentrate / details of his hands and feet / mother nature’s dirty litle fingernails / Joao Ricardo places his fat joint to his lips in imitation of a tycoon with a fat cigar / Mister / giv es a lite / por favor / television American / or so he thinks / dark now / hands grope for lighter ’fore he finds it / little naughty fire-dot far away / exterminate