April 29: Rural Honduras, Fall 1992
Cement floors for a bed,
and cold showers overhead,
and us in our borrowed work clothes.
The Belizean complained the most.
Burning waste in the punishing heat
Burros untethered in the street:
very few can imitate that bray.
We took our meals across the way.
A criss-cross fence turned our habitat
into a kind of performance art that
made it hard to leave our room.
We felt like animals in the zoo.
Crafted in a wooden shack
sipped through straws from plastic bags
Licuados sold on the distant corner
Chocolate-banana was the best flavor.
In the deepest hour of night
a fog would settle under moonlight
on cows grazing in the makeshift soccer field
on machetes for show that the drunken might wield.
There was a church just a few minutes’ walk
In front we dug a long, wide trough
though I don’t remember why.
This is the slide show in my mind’s eye.