Bear Grylls: The Island

His oar rubbed squeak along the rail of his boat,
the shuffle of tennis shoe on Davis Cup court
echoing out across the mangrove rain forest.

Grylls was afloat with no Internet,
no knife,
rations were low,
the buttons on his shirt blown,
shot through,
his torso bare behind broken stage curtain mid-part before opening night review.

There was a sign stretched across the horizon.
Grylls was hypnotised,
the tides drawing him closer to the
bedsheet, made by kids, written on in Crayola, bamboo pole handled banner:
I'VE LOST A FATHER AND I MISS HIM EVERYDAY.

Bear held his gut in his palm, a
n
e
e
d
l
e
branch had lashed out of the no surf
puncturing his lung
and he died breathless in his boat:
the Amazon is as lethal as it looks,
this sign makes sense now.