Friday, June 30, 2006

ONE WEEK



They arrive in Mexico that afternoon
And immediately begin colonizing it
Their clothes and gear all over their room
Their tabs mushrooming all about the town
They drape hotel towels like flags over boats, sand,
beach, benches, rocks, snorkels, jeeps, everything.


At the shrine of Ixchel
He scoffs while she offers
A sticky, long-stamened
hibiscus flower at the altar
Then he beckons her back--
’cos you have to crush it
For it to work
When she’s within grabbing distance
He rubs her belly and yells at the empty sky--
Make it quick you lazy Mayan bastards.
Their laughter piles up
in the naked temple
like sudden party guests


Days go by anchored only
By the newness of things
Days go by when she’s locked
by nothing but fistfuls of her hair


And he’s taken to calling himself
“Big Papi”
Which when she’s done looping
her doubly foreign vowels around it
sounds subversively affectionate
“Big Puppy”
Might be what she really says, softly.



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