The furniture was Oaxacan wood
finished in plum, red blood
with brightly painted finials
haunting little animals
a lazy, creaking fan
whirred on, above
in gasping bursts, too tired
to cool the room
and only moved
the paper bougainvilleas
glowing – orange, peachy, red
my feet, ever ecstatic to meet
the cool of clay saltillo tiles
red faced, happy to have escaped
into this mirage, my one thought
being margaritas