She Is Running Down the Staircase

she is running down the staircase que pasa, que pasa, echoes before her i am on the front balcony watching the butterflies wander from one miniature rose to the next having my third cup of coffee cream, Kahlua, a tad of rum as Beethoven's Fifth drifts out escaping into the verdant she too is enveloped in escape her piece of resistance the taxi waiting below a week ago they arrived love abounding everywhere i had checked them into the hotel i am the resident poet fill in for a drunk night manager the brotherhood of the inebriated they had met on acid true love, fate, destiny, you know the routine Leary would have been proud the first day they were a ballet dancing down the beach romantic eateries watching the ocean tumble continuously in as pelicans and magnificent frigates filled the sky in an aerial choreography then the acid ran out and tequila waltzed in by the third day, doors began slamming the iguanas could not bear it anymore retreated to the din of the jungle by weeks end the mosquitos pleaded to be let out screams became crescendos thru the hotel now he comes to the balcony she and luggage are loaded into the waiting taxi, the que pasa now a raucous cacophony of stick it up yours slowly fading into the neotropical jungle she is off to another piece of resistance of that i am sure i ask him, think she will write he ignores me, returns to his room where for three days no one sees him the bottles pile up outside, he is alive the fifth day he is gone Play Hermosa 91