Carol traveled alone
to Chichenitzá
like an archeologist
on a “B” movie bus
in search of a Mayan
cure for her mate
on his death chaise
by a pool
at a Cancun hotel.
She noted no passengers
making the sign of the cross
like the mob on the ferry
to Isla Mujeres did
to keep the craft afloat.
Bad springs and worse road
failed to turn her stomach.
She returned without
an antidote but was amazed
at the ruins, especially
the pyramids.
She still talks of them
and they tailspin
in my mind and gut
like stealth bombers
on germ warfare missions.
The legendary outlaw
fires six-shooters
at the sky to celebrate
a plague or two and mocks me
by downing a dozen toxins.
Wearing a bandolier
across his chest he feeds
his favorite seafood cuisine
to smitten Mayan Goddesses–
his mustachio curled like asps
for Cleopatra and her
pyramids.
Fantastic imagery! Well done!
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