Taking a Trip
(Merida, Mexico, 1992)

mid-day is impossible    the sun a white-white straitjacket
beating a message too loud to endure    we suck at pepsi’s 
in the shade of umbrellaed tiendas      when we try to take 
the bottles with us the shopkeeper chases us down the street

it rains every day at 4    we try not to see what floats past 
us    Mexican pottery tastes like copper and dust   feels
like a broken tooth on your tongue

the damp smell of honeysuckle   the air hot and close an
enormous hand around us      my armpits leak into the 
waistband of my cargo shorts     my t-shirt sags against 
the back of my thighs

we stumble up two monuments a day   sometimes they 
are steep and I’m afraid      I stay on the grass and take 
pictures of the skulls carved into walls

monarch butterflies follow us every where like gnats
we swat at them      I make you wear a hat      I worry 
about your skin the photosynthesis    every day you 
sleep a little longer    sometimes you smile and I 
ask what’s funny

the buses are so hot  no seats and we stand sometimes 
for hours we can’t pronounce the names of the ruins

translucent bluebirds flit between trees   they climb
close to your head before they are devoured by fire
ants      when you run you scream like a girl

no one understands us     at night we have only
the ceiling fan    you shudder away from my touch
I count your pills in the bathroom while you’re 
sleeping hoping you have enough     there is no
map for this kind of travel