Guatemala

Normal has returned to the fields of Guatemala.
The senile river has forgotten its own rage,
Forgotten how to eat humans and metal.
Normal has returned to the people of Guatemala.
Their lives are too tilting to worry about the other,
Too tilting to think about her.

The music pounds, still, in the ballroom, Casa Loma.
The floors have forgotten the steps her feet took,
Forgotten how a sensual merengue feels.
The music pounds still in the bodies of the dancers.
Their lives are too consumed with perfect rhythm,
Too consumed to remember her.

I forget her, too, this woman I barely knew,
Who smiled in a picture lost among my others.