December 12, 2008

Reverb

The cigar points backwards
post-figuring that time transfigured
in the sun, the scent of it
on that maize balcony.

My eyes closed and still saw fish
saltwater still sang in my veins
my skin itch-free and digestive track
on track
as the beer flowed like wine.

I rode through town where
tourists landed like immigrants,
where an old woman fainted on the street
revived and helped by two policeman.

Then nearly run over by a horse and carriage
when I'd witlessly followed a native through an intersection,
as the shopkeepers hollered "silver" or "cigars"
as if that were the only two things on earth worth having.

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