Each time I stand before it
My memory is transported
To a town in Mexico
Where we played some Domino.
Why that town from all the rest
Should appear without bequest
To my mind as I copy…?
Makes my past seem sloppy.
Why not Florence, Galway, Rome?
Why not Mozambique, or home?
Why not on some far off beach,
Or somewhere more out-of-reach?
Why return where we languished
As heavy rains caused us anguish --
Cancelling the well-made plans
No more swimming, no more tans.
In their place we settled for
Bloody Mary’s which were poured
With clamato juice and lime,
Playing games and passing time.
But since then true time has passed
And now the place that can fast
Conjure up that obscure scene:
Paused at the copy machine.
-- 2014
