Travel Advisory

Travel Advisory

A warning to all travelers on vacation!
Avoid crowds, kissing, hugging friends.
A virus has invalidated your vaccination.
A swine flu in México has pandemic trends,
Fear has paralyzed the entire nation.
Don’t take the plane, the bus or train.
Avoid museums, markets, public transportation,
Petting zoos, public parks, walks in the rain.
Cancel school field trips to the local pig farm.
Wear a mask and always wash your hands,
Follow health rules to escape great harm.
For the Ballet Folklórico change your plans,
Or throw caution to the winds, say “What the Hell,
If the bug don’t kill me, I’ll get well! ¨

A Wake Up Call

A Wake Up Call

It’s that blurred feeling of fear
That creeps into you
Waking up in bed alone
At dawn, thinking, this is unreal
Living by myself, surrounded by
Neighbors in the sleepy first-light
Of morning, that must be

Someone else in a catatonic
Fog trying to focus his eyes,
Stretching his stiff aching body
Over the bed, thinking, this
Can’t be real, waking to the birds
With the other neighbors, slowly levatating
To percolate coffee with the hardiest
Early morning risers, yearning

To be somewhere else, wishing
That I was anywhere else but here,
An old man looking in on himself, as if
From another planet,
Flipping the switch on the pot, smelling
The coffee, waiting for the early news

Feeling himself sliding downhill
In a sluggish stupor, looking past
Years wired in the memory’s hard drive
Years which seem hauntingly blank
And odd,
and abruptly thinking
With a new rush of queasiness
This isn’t real, waking in this place
Feeling as if I were about to decompose

In the desert heat, that must be
Someone else, staring out

At his elderly neighbors, on a normal day,
Which begins like every other day
With a man waking in an empty bed,
Feeling himself alone and trying
Not to fade away

On the final leg of the journey
When the fruit and the sweet-red wine
Seem to ripen under a pale moon
And the heart fills up with delight

Mesquite Days 2009

Mesquite Days 2009

The faces of the town have changed
Remnants and names remain.

Progeny recapitulates phylogeny
Hughes, Jensen, Leavitt, Adams,

Bowler, Woods-pioneer names,
Founder names, Mormon names

Sprinkled among new immigrants-
Jones, Browns and Dragesoviches,

Refugees from cold climates
Seeking the warmth of tradition

The security of small town life,
A friendlier place to live and die

Strangers, changing the face of history,
Won by the hard fight of pioneers

Who carved a future from a hostile
Desert with sweat, blood, tears

Fulfilled a prophet’s dream
Broke new ground

And left the children a legacy-
A niche in small town America

The faces of the town have changed
Remnants and names remain.

From My Rooftop Patio

From My Rooftop Patio in Ajijic, Before the Fiesta Begins

Trucks loaded with children dance together
After the music begins.
Engines vibrate between Mariachi bands.
The old women- las viejas, spread flowers
Over the carretera.
A brown burro, it’s soft liquid eyes
Glassy with lagrimas, brays in Spanish
And invites pairs of señores y señoritas
To dance on rough cobblestones.

Temporary Insanity

Temporary Insanity (I think)

A small spot of loneliness
resides in every mind.
A dark spot, unexplainable
like an incomplete sentence
lacking sense of connection
to meaningful context,
on its own, floating freely
like debris in a tornado.
Helter-skelter and random,
rising and falling willy-nilly,
hither and yon, settling down
when it takes a mind to.
Today my dark spot, my
loneliness, settles on me
like dust on the rooftop.

In My Dream

In My Dream

My somber heart seeks you always
I love your happy body, your rich, soft voice.
Dusky butterfly, sweet and sure
like the wheat field, the sun, the poppy, and the water.

Your savage hair blows wild today
Over the meadow of my dreams
Standing in a field of yellow sunflowers
My somber heart seeks you always

The nectar of my soul’s sweet blossom
Simple syrup for a lovable life
Your presence fills the days with joy
I love your happy body, your rich, soft voice

Soothing, reassuring in troubled times
I love your happy face, your glad, warm smile
Flitting here, there and everywhere
Dusky butterfly, sweet and sure

Covering days of sadness with flight
Masking sorrow in the sun’s bright light
Natural, thoughtful, at ease with me
Like the wheat field, the sun, the poppy and the water.

What Remains, Remains

What Remains, Remains

The sign in the road screams
“Dead people’s things for sale”

No “Estate Sale” euphemism
For these good old southern folks.

After all Grandpa Fred can’t
Hear the cuckoo of his old Black

Forest clock from his grave.
Might as well sell his shit,

Pick his bones clean, and recycle
Some of the love he displayed

Fawning over his collection
Of thingamabobs, doodads,

Gold watches, old books,
Bronzed baby shoes, and

Aztec funeral urns Acquired
from yard sales in Mexico.

So Much Rides on a Healthy Breakfast

So Much Rides on a Healthy Breakfast

The neighbor at the house across from mine
is complaining again. Her voice, pursuing
the heels of her husband, screeches loudly
each time he opens his mouth. Life

and the world with all its vagaries
might experience apocalypse as foretold
by Nostradamus, but what about
this woman chasing this man

in the middle of the morning,
Sweet Jesus he caused no harm
to anyone, and while he was eating breakfast
only wanted a banana on his Cheerios.

Semana Santa

Semana Santa

The parade
Of saints waves from narrow streets
Celebrates the suffering
Holy tears of Our Lady de Guadalupe
Flow like fresh lava

The children
Of Ajijic ape ancient rituals
A blanket of white robes mounted in
A pageant of adorned brown asses
Clopping on cobblestones

The nerves
Of Mexico crawl up her spine
Indifferent to the elements
A mantle of bougainvillea scarlet spreads
Over her gnarled hands

The dirt
From her garden, like Wednesday's ashes
Nourishes the heart
A blessing of Pascua Florida
Renews lost hope

Paradoxical Sleep

Paradoxical Sleep

I have been wakeful at night
And words have come to me
Out of their deep caves
Needing to be remembered…Wendell Berry

The noesis of my learning
Follows me everywhere,
Overrules the depths of sleep,
I have been wakeful at night.

I toss about in a sea of knowledge,
Pitched in a tumultuous storm
Neurons flashing like lightning,
And words have come to me

Images of the perfect poem
Fly around like rabid bats
Chasing air- breathing arthropods
Out of their deep caves

Syntax and substance are drowsy,
Yawning in these early morning hours.
I jot notes, lest I forget half-asleep, words
Needing to be remembered.

In Praise of the Short-Lived

In Praise of the Short-Lived


Exotic, romantic- life in a foreign land
like a poem or a song, brief and ephemeral.
Solitary women dream of Latin lovers
serenading, crooning “Cielto Lindo”
among fireflies and bougainvilleas.
We praise the transitoriness that impresses
possibility and gives joy to dreamers.