Rio De Janeiro
Glorious Rio - unashamedly you bare
your body and your soul
to anyone, to everyone
who comes upon your glistening ocean shore.
You lie blissfully flaunting yourself,
oblivious to a code that tells
of when to arise or go to bed
of when to take breakfast or lunch or of where to sup
of how to dress for the beach or for the street.
You offer up yourself for my pleasure
and readily I take!
I take the sand to romp upon,
to lie upon and brown my skin.
I take the waves through which to leap
in exuberant jubilation.
I take your streets,
through which countless cars and bodies stream
and your cobbled walks
with their door-less shops
and their strange and tantalizing odors
of breads and fruits and sweets. . . I taste your delicacies.
I choose from wares of vendors on Copacabana’s Promenade
and marvel at delicate tropical birds
carved from amethyst, rose quartz, and from gold.
I take your abundant sights of natural splendor -
your Sugar Loaf Mountain
where tiny monkeys wander within my reach, your green foliage,
your many sunsets breaking
over the Atlantic.
I take the hospitality of your people of many hues -
from white to tan to black,
and I bask in the festive atmosphere with which you are imbued.
Alas, when I leave you, Rio, I look back
to the mountain where your Christ
o u t s p r e a d s
his arms
the symbol of your acceptance of us all.
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