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
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