O avocado
that cannot sleep
through the night in its mesh bowl
O Sinaloan lychee
whose brightness confounds
those who harvest and pack it in perforated pails
And then we were in Amatenango del Valle
expelled by the jungle
beyond the acacia and Brahma bulls
and choked hyacinth tanks
a few clicks up the blacktop
from Teopisca
Tonight, the chick with the killer bod
finally went ballistic.
In the wake of noise, drinks went flying
through a hail of fake tits and toupees.
Women wore hearts on their sleeves;
hard drinkers were bent out of shape,
I was born at a very early age. Later, I came to resemble
my misconceptions and grew into the egg
I had been commissioned to exist and avoid.
In this way, we are issued.
My freckled shell now sings etudes in memory of Chopin.