Day of the Dead
Tourists with no destination walk
waving smartphones on sticks, taking
selfies: Look, here I am with Billy in
Oaxaca. They arrive with naked faces.
Then remove masks for photos
posed before altars and Catrinas. When
they see me see their naked faces hastily
they re-cover, like morning glories at sudden night.
In tourist heaven like any heaven there’s
nothing to do but pose. I look at their
shoes, to identify national origins.
I’m never wrong because I never ask.
I turn to the wall my face when we pass.
No heaven here, folks, sorry.
Two lizards cohabit my mailbox.
I know they’re having sex despite
the season, or because of the season,
and their tiny offspring will gobble
mosquitos in the patio at night, saving
me from dengue the following week.
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