Guanica

You slept in, I walked to the beach “I love you” an old American hippy yelled ”And the mosquitos do too!” My big red welts A souvenir of our night in Guanica A stay forced by the Puerto Rican cop Who pulled you over for “speeding” at 5pm License to be returned when you paid the fine Payable only at the police station, which closed at 5pm You weren’t speeding But you were Nuyorican Without a word of Spanish He would have locked you up if he could The hotel he said was nearest (perhaps owned by his dearest?) Had a pool, empty save for cracks and a coconut We were the only guests Yet we were underdressed For the bar Two local grand dames and an old colonel In full regalia From another time Sipping their nightly resurrection When I stepped naked into the bathroom And switched on the light A hundred mosquitos fed in a frenzy as if they’d waited all their lives for me The old hotel was the highlight Of our trip And of our time together You could never want me The way those mosquitos did