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HOTEL LAGUANA
_________________________
In the land of the lowland Mayas
by the fresh water lake
with mermaids all in a row.
In the land of the rebel's AK47
verses the Mexican army's M16
with a grenade launcher,
rat tat tat
rat tat tat
ka boom.
You will find the Hotel Laguana,
all seventies kitsch,
and Wolfgang up in his room,
reading his picaresque, adventure stories
and me,
beside the swimming pool,
doing the poet thing,
pen in hand,
notebook on the table,
scribbling away,
where to start and
where to finish
these damn things.
Manana, we are off to the ruins,
the steamy, insect infested jungle,
the frolicsome monkeys and parrots,
the exotic birdwatchers,
or are they just estranged spies.
Salsa picante with huevos rancheros,
for breakfast,
the sweltering tropical golden sun,
and me,
sweating bullets of perspiration,
alike the flora in the dawn mist and fog,
and I as the artist, burning the midnight oil,
seldom get up that early,
in the morning,
anymore....
only, at the Hotel Laguana
in the land of the lowland Mayas.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
[The Poets' Edge Magazine, Cal. 90ties]
[Collegiate Latino Underground, N.J.-90ties]
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