The Polynesian widows

remain faithful to their rituals

now John Adams stands alone.

The shouts & laughter of children

mingle with the cries of gulls

echoing over fields where the widows work

surrounded by the unchanging ocean

wearing flowers in their hair,

carrying the bones & skulls of the slain.

Poor Adams is confused.

Does mad Quintal mock Mr Christian?

Or is Williams grinning at Ned Young

whose rotten teeth at last have fallen out?

Clank, clank, the widows’ hips sway

unnerving this stranded survivor

witness to lurid action

this beached up cockney, reluctant patriarch.

What a life! his old dad would have sighed,

good weather, time for a bit of skiving

all the time in the world.

But Adams has his problems, clink, clink

the widows share their secrets.

He must stop these heathen rites,

turns to the Bible, that comfort in old age.