These eleven poems were inspired by the various times I've travelled and lived in Latin America.

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Long Haul

 

I used to hate them

those 18-wheel monsters

muscling cars off the Panamericana

 

Now the pueblo

with its power cuts

and its smouldering garbage

deflates me

 

In the toss-and-turn nights

the rasping air brakes comfort me from afar

There’s life out there

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*   *   *

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H2O

​

Fifteen kilometres down with five to go

I stop to quench my thirst

Siesta shop shutters mock me

 

One place is always open

No glass, no straw –

I purse my lips and slurp

 

Look up

Is someone watching me?

 

There he is

against the wall, above the altar

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*   *   *

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Passive Smoking

 

The mohawk and the goatee

attract the street dealers

Hola señor! You want weed?

 

In our condo corridor

and on the beach

I smell it every day

 

Amigo, I must decline

The fear of a Third-World jail

prevails

 

When the muchachos light up

I move downwind

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*   *   *

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Expats

 

I don’t remember

how we got chatting

but I soon regretted it

 

Small talk at first

Then the rap sheet

 

You gringo expats

in your little cocoons

pizzas, burgers, Bud

 

I change the subject

Where are you from?

Melbourne

Which part do you call home?

Chinatown

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*   *   *

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The King

 

RESTOBAR SOL Y MAR

 

The listless rags outside –

starznstripes and maple leaf –

define the clientele:

documented immigrants

I’ll give the place a try

 

From his barstool he rules

resplendent in tired tank top –

a third eye blinks below

His crown a John Deere cap

A retinue of two

 

Hey! Joe-zay!

The barman freezes

Where the fuck’s my next beer?

His Highness brandishes the bottle –

dregs do the fandango

C’mon! Chop-chop!

José obeys

 

I beckon him

He sidles up warily

Buenos días, José. Me gustaría una cerveza, por favor.

Surprise and relief battle for control of his face

 

and then are vanquished by a wince

Hey, buddy! Yes, YOU!

In this bar we speak English to these people!

 

I slow-swivel

and face him

Well, don’t let me stop you.

 

An ambulance wails far away

 

With both hands

he slowly turns the John Deere around –

his little ritual

We’re gonna step outside now, buddy.

You and me.

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*   *   *

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Working In Sales

 

The calloused feet

shuffle towards us

impervious to the burning sand

 

A weathered face ducks in

underneath our umbrella

 

Hola señor! You wanna buy bracelet?

No thank you

 

Is nice bracelets! You buy!

I sip my margarita

stare at the horizon

 

Look! This one very nice! Good price!

FUCK OFF! STOP BOTHERING US!

 

She recoils

Kicks the sand

Stomps off

 

Rejection comes with the territory

when you work in sales

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*   *   *

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Hounded

 

As long as they bark

from behind a rusty fence

or when mock-charging in the muddy street

you jog on by

 

It’s the ones pretending to lick their balls

or snap at flies

as you approach

then pounce in silence

once your back is turned

that justify the tetanus shot

and the sharpened stick

 

This one’s made a mistake

Its throaty snarl warns me

just in time

​

Adrenaline unleashes my mother tongue

Fokkof!

It falls on deaf and pointy-snipped ears

 

The many mental rehearsals

didn’t prepare me

for the sorrow in its yelps

and the gushing of its blood

 

Tomorrow I will take a different route

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*   *   *

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Easy Meat

 

I despise the flies’ feasting

on those bloody hunks of flesh

lolling on the trestle tables in the open air market

It’s out of the question

 

In the airconned expat superstore

slabs of hormone-infested US beef

beckon behind freezer doors

like whores in Amsterdam shop windows

I do the deal

 

Later, on the grill

the steak doesn’t sizzle –

it wilts

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*   *   *

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Condo

 

“Rooftop pool closed for maintenance.”

“Piscina de la azotea reservada para trabajadores.”

 

I guess I’m a local now

The security guys in the lobby nod me in

(I carry my card just in case)

and buzz me when the sushi arrives

 

From up here

I can almost see forever

when the wind takes care

of the shantytown smog

 

Over there, the office

Manuel knows, at last

to bring the car around

at eight-twenty-six sharp

 

I never look down

Nothing much to see

 

I’m a local now

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*   *   *

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To-do List

 

I must remember

(if I can, tomorrow morning)

to ask the landlord

for proper drinking glasses

​

Johnny just doesn’t look the same

through scuffed green plastic

 

But there’s no difference

once he tickles my tongue

and twinkle-toes his way

down my gullet

 

I’m out of ice

Already?

 

I must remember

(if I can, tomorrow morning)

to figure out the fewest pesos:

Red at the bar or Black back here

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*   *   *

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Passing Through

 

In Chile one more week

then Colombia for three

 

Our video beers are great, mate

but it’s not the same as live

 

Adriano behind the bar

suffices:

knows my poison,

doesn’t wince at my Spanish

 

With bags packed once more

I down my last

and leave a massive tip

See you tomorrow, amigo!

 

It’s easier that way

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**   **   **

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