South

Caribbean (2003) by John Scane

You light your cigar
knowing the smoke offends me
You wave it off
As you remark
about how down here
everything tastes better.
I reply pointing out
how the colors
are more intense
And we each look around
for the waiter.

Later we walk
through the plaza
around the old fountain
and through an archway
moving towards a melody
hidden around the corner.

It is so balmy
even at this late hour
I watch the sweat crawl
down your forehead
You seem not to notice
as you chew on your toothpick.

Everything unravels
at its own pace
Here I can dream
that time will crawl
Slowing at last to
complete rest.

I remember later
as I lay on the lump
we call a mattress
still too hot to sleep
I remember before
we crossed the border
Before the crimes
When there was still
A chance of meeting God.

You told me
we are all sinners
We come into the world as such
and leave the same way
And there is no sense
in pretending
or lying to ourselves.

I keep all doubts to myself.
Wasn't there a time
before these warm turquoise seas
and tequila filled glasses
when I was strong and full of faith?
When I was honest like a sour lemon?

I long to make love
the way we used to
that first spring
when you were a promise.
Tomorrow, you said,
we will take a jaunt
to that little island
maybe have a picnic.
But I worry about the flies
And whether that local
really knows how to sail.

What is all this
but a bus stop
In a place of last year’s

Posters and sidewalks
are never repaired?

The girls in their frocks
colored red, yellow, white;
They move like flowers
blown by a strong wind
Laughing freely
And the boys run to see
There have always been girls
and boys that will chase
Your eyes follow
you can't help it
you are a man.

I can write them down
or speak them aloud
It matters not.
Infidelity, betrayal,
theft, murder, deceit.
Which sins are yours
and which are mine?

Life is all lies
You remind me again
How they lie to themselves
to their bosses, just for a paycheck
How they lust after the girl
sitting at the next table at lunch
How they say they are fine
though fists yearn to squeeze life
out of the man across the counter.

Does it make it better
To give birth to the scream
Drag it across the craggy landscape
And call its carnage truth?
Down here you don't ask
what brought you here
We're all running
Though the scenery is bueno
and the alcohol barato.
Let's go back, Tex,
One last hurrah.
To hell with them all
I'd rather go in a blaze
in a violent moment
of failed glory.

You laugh, remind me
this is not 1889.
Then let us be spies,
Let us be tourists,
let us be anything
but what we are.

09/15/2009