poetry & things

In Mexico

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

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