Heights

From these Heights we can see it all,

The place of it. Things as they are.

Things as we imagine them to be.

Bays and small harbors, beaches

And boats. These are the pictures

We take away, cameras full of this,

Memories filled with what we saw

And what we thought we saw. This

Is a place we read about, a place

We’ve filed away, getting ready to

Talk about. From the Heights it all

Became clear, the people become

Pieces in this puzzle, live as best

They can, surrounded by the natural

Beauty of the place, playing their

Part on the edges of what tourists

Bring to it, see and imagine. Natives

Of places like this live at the bottom

Of the Heights, live on low wages or

Play their parts in the unemployed.

From these heights the native population,

The day-to-day people of places, like

This, almost disappear into the beauty

Of this place.

 

   What We Take Away

All these fat cats roll by

Filling up their afternoon

And their excursion bus

With jokes and jawing

Spying, commenting on

As they make their way

Make their day going about

The business of tourists

Getting their photos to                                                                                         .

Bring home, spending as

That group does, on things

That fit expectations back

Home, refrigerator magnets

Another pen or coffee cup

With their destination’s name

In bold bright lettering – while

Some go off for duty-free items

Watches and jewelry. They’re

Here then gone, making very

Little impression on the place

They’re passing through on

Their way to the next day.

 

                   This Cold

This cold, this coughing, this sneezing

Followed me down here to the tropics

With its sunshine and warmth. Followed

Me down from the north with its snowing

And cold. Followed me as I tried to escape

Escape the inevitable. Booked this cruise

Island to island here in the Caribbean, and

It must have snuck aboard, stowed away

And waited. I heard it in the distance at first

Somewhere in the audience at the stage show.

Then it slowly approached me, nearer and

Nearer at dinner, behind me in line as we

Disembarked in the last port. I should have

Recognize his noises, coughing and sneezing

But I mistook who he was after. He was some

Other person’s cold, something they brought

Along to share their vacation. But early this

Morning, too early for me, I woke to him and

His various wiles – his stuffy nose that begins

To run, his short bursts of coughing, and his

Scratching at my throat. He followed me, he

Watched me for a time planning his next move

And now he’s here, my winter cold I thought

I could leave behind but couldn’t.