Costa Maya?
White floating cities cluster
giants at the end of a dock
beaten by wind
baptized by waves.
Streams of sunhats with legs
braid to shore dancing
to Ricky Martin, Gloria Estefan
like happy lemmings on holiday.
Everything is for sale
one hundred types of Tequila,
diamonds in all colors, superhero statues,
because nothing says Mexico
like Thor and the Justice League,
maracas, bracelets “whit” your name,
watches, skimpy sundresses with parrots
wooden dolphins and plaster toucans
duffles with NFL logos, tshirts
with Mayan temples
gold chains, antibiotics, and retin-A.
Raucous dancing, whistles
blast out from Senor Frogs.
Customers drink fancy rum drinks
from foot and a half long plastic palms
happy to be out of the rain,
wishing for sun.
Brass studded mariachis
sing Guantanamera next to
the giant polychrome jaguar head
in front of a sea of faces
obscured by point and shoots.
Feathered dancers with painted faces
stand in front of the arched entrance
next to the bathrooms
trilling songs of their ancestors,
in theory.
Frigate birds, terns, pelicans hover over
dolphin pools hoping to outsmart
their not so fortunate captive cousins
for fish treats, while
waiting for the white wedding cakes
to cast off
leaving them the beach and sea.
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