8 buses One Boat/ first morning in Guatemala

concrete walls rise to meet rusted roof tops all in haze through smoking chimneys
clothes lines and power lines run over the town like some tremendous web
appearing as to hold the town from sliding down the precipitous slope
all resting and nestled at the forplain of a volcano
bearing the same name as the town it so quietly shrouds over
I sit on the balcony in the early morning pearing out over the still town
the only sounds to be heard is the far off tuk tuks climbing the hills like a struggling  lawn mower
a refreshing feeling runs through my body in total happiness with the sight of a new place and country
colorfull clothes drying on the lines sway in the wind almost like tibetan  prayer flags
the streets of the town not wide enough for a car twist through like a labyrinth
dogs roam free and innocent around every corner
women walk with baskets of warm banana bread balanced upon there heads
wearing lustrous skirts of indigo and fuchsia heald together by a glittering sash
the smell of dark rich coffee roasting inside every cafe as I pass by
smiling children shout Hello!!! as they run past on the way to school
a lazy morning is spent over espresso and plates of fruit and granola in a warm garden of mango and avocado trees bringing shade from the rising sun




this is just something I wrote after my first morning in guatemala feeling great about my travels

blue suede bowling boots

In the arc of conversation

all I think about is all I want

All I want is to kiss you

In the sand we lay and we talk

you say sweet little things

you smile with sprightly sparkle

In the excitement 

skys we watch begin to shatter 

we run with laughter

In the night

I really really feel weary

can't sleep to your mystery

I don't know why

In the light of my morning

Im calm like fire crackers

after all I have run from

where the fuck did you come from

In the moment

feeling crazy emotions

I met you once and fallen for your notions

I don't know why

a little note...... a love poem may seem trite and there is not many things you can say on the topic that hasn't already been said but a wise person once told me "better out then in"

Mexico City Bus Terminal

Awoken hastily from my seat

made warm by my sleeping body

in a bus rolling into Mexico City

within moments I stand dumbly

in front of dozens of ticket counters

so many bodies rushing in all directions

reading sign after sign of destinations

Tijuana, Culiacan, Los Mochis, Guadalajara

even Chicago

a man pushes a large broom in utter monotony

walks with uniformity

speaks to himself lowly and lonely

sprawled on frigid marble floor I sit

 early morning a bright electric red clock blinks

6:38am

again a man with the large broom pushes by

exact pace in exact place 

over my shoulder the sky begins to brighten 

sound of taxi horns piercing

interrupt soft sounds of chattering and footsteps

across frigid marble

where I sit, I wait

indigenous women walks past

with rucksack hanging down her back

indignant porters work with feverish haste

in blue overcoats hanging to there waist

she stops - stands looking vacantly at ticket counters

wearing the same look as I wore an hour before

morning gets later the sounds grow louder

the pulse of the day gets underway

the sky is full’n bright

the electric florescent light subsides

a more pleasing natural color illuminates the terminal

a swarm of porters stand circled

cigarets resting on finger tips and clanking change

earned earlier morning

I just begin to puzzle

 where is the man with the large broom

he is not in the room

maybe sent to another place

another space

time continues slowly

I sit perpetually idle

my mind tires with thoughts

my own monotonous wait

day is so long with nothing to do
except push this pen

he arrives

pushing that same tremendous broom

with his belly 

holding it steadily same pace same place 

he does not speak like before

his mouth is occupied with persistent chewing

a sugary doughnut he’s truly cheery

his content generates my elatedness

the morning is transforming

my day has begun

the bright electric red clock blinks

9:36am

April 22, 2011

By Mike McNett