Donovan James, “Americans on Holiday

Americans on Holiday

Donovan James

Stomping atop cobblestone streets, Capturing a filament of existence, In a photograph, Americans meander down Thin and weathered Cities like tattered scarves, Rivulets connect spats Of old colony architecture, Past dens emanating a musk Of fried cheese, The dim hum of tortillas smacking Against stone,

Exuberant cathedrals drenched In vibrant colors, Lively merchant booths house Plump women politely offering Hand-carved pottery, And the ancient masks Of Spanish gods.

Kids whizz past, the melody Of laughter floating Past wanderlust crows, Careening upwards, While statuesque old men Perch upon canes, Locals curiously observe The odd sight of three American men traveling, Alone, out of season, We flicker from one immediate interest To another, We are boys again, Dancing along, The broken arrow Of time.

The earth breathes, Thick white fumes from soil, Humid dew stirs

Americans from an ethanol steeped Slumber, the automobile whirs Into gear, flings Americans down hills Alongside wild horses roaming thick Swaths of jungle, bubbling over Cresting hills to a hazy horizon.

Grumpy chickens bark arguments Over imposing tourists, Oblivious hogs munch grass, While mangy dogs cope, With past lives Of abuse, Timidly rubbing noses, Near tourists, For food.

Voluptuous waitresses effuse Kindness, caress well-intentioned Broken english, And bestow decadent meals Of hearty grains, stewy beans, And succulent fish to sop up A heathenesque mix of tequila and beer.

Americans on holiday, Stumble down streets at dusk Where the moon and night’s kiss Reveals a hidden caste; The present’s incarnation of A hundred thousand years of thankless sacrifice, Young women rearing children, Birthing the seeds of every civilization, Hoping to weather the storms of ideology, The cacophonic winds of misogyny, Sisyphean attempts to nurture, A better world Into being.

While men idle in alleyway stoops, Warm beer pooling in bellies, Hazy minds reside In the stubborn canyons of tradition, Charging privilege and wanton Ecological destruction, To future generations.

Endless bottles of beer quell Existential angst, flickering Thoughts of imperialism— Reagan and the Sandinistas— The lives of locals distilled Into textbook paragraphs, Making tourism a question of ethics;

We glimpse only slivers Of the lives of others, Random collisions where we confirm biases Of kindness or cynicism, Where we either, Strengthen the stubbornness of grand assumptions, Or rekindle that youthful mantra of humility: We are certain of so very little, All of us, A tender fillet of vulnerability, A fleeting cascade of strangers, Where the spark of connection bursts Over a joke, A smile, All space between us, Perceptions and grievances, Gone.