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Two Poems
by Les Bares Post Cards I promised myself to bring her to this pink cove on the Pacific, although I had not yet met her. Traveling back in time we make this trip where nothing has changed. Señora Diaz rents her cabana for half price because again I hesitate. The equatorial sun burns as easily as when I was younger. Yet the water this time of year is cold. The deserted winter beach is all ours, except for the town pig lazily rutting in the sand and the niños who want to practice their English. In this remake of my memory one day leads to another Pilsner Callao. The tavern fish fry is as good as before and from the patio I stare out at the ocean counting waves as I did long ago and wonder why I ever left this rose-colored fishing village that does not change the post cards of itself-- the songwriter’s lonely dock of the bay, the painter’s white wrecked fishing boat, los perros barking at the trailing moonlit wake of their masters setting sail for the open sea. Aguas Calientes In the baths remembering The universe is crowded with silence tonight. Phosphorescent gridlock crawls along the Way between the sierras. Steam vapors fuzz the diamond facets polished deaf and dumb spilled on the black of outer space. Alone I float on my back gawking. Alone in the warm pool of sulfur water, transient nebular night distant and songless. Lavish mint surrounds the baths, its perfumed leaves tightly shuttered, counting the hours along with the passive maiden moon repressed hiding behind the ridge. Alone I cry for her love and my heart sinks, despite the tepid bubbling healing waters. |
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