Boys of Ambergris

The boys of Ambergris Caye are so horny
their eyes follow my slow undulations
like the waves that roll over
Shark and Ray Alley.
Those boys with greedy eyes primp
their Reggae dreads in my honor. Even
with a husband on my arm they want me,
chase me into the depths of the Blue Hole,
drench me in rum and pineapple
so I don't remember. When the wind dies,
the mosquitoes make their purchase
on my fragrant flesh. They dive in
and masticate until I'm one big pink itch.
They don't stop even when I slap
them into blood splats.
Until the winds whisk them away
like a heavy sigh

Everyone is Buddha

Everyone is Buddha.
The drunk guy sleeping it off on the bus bench,
yesterday's news as blanket;
the woman pushing her basket up Broadway,
wheels shrieking like crows;
the ingenue in her red suit hurrying
towards the building.

Everyone is Buddha.
The girl with glittery nails
jacked up on Pepsi;
the man in his wheelchair
flashing a finger at the bus driver;
the Saudi cabbie with no air conditioning
waiting for yellow lights.

Everyone is Buddha.
The teen with rings, studs and acne;
the grandfather who stops to hold his chest;
the cop pulling into the parking lot
of Krispy Kreme.

Everyone is Buddha.
The ants at your picnic,
barging into carbs and sugars;
the flies on the windowsill frozen in Winter,
thawed by Spring;
the raccoons that choose moonless nights
to raid your fig trees.

Hummingbirds, horses, chickens, cows,
gnats and iguanas, all infused with light.
Golden breath streams from the Himalayas.
A messenger waits outside your delusions,
patient, loving, happy.
Say hello to Buddha.
Om a hom.

Open Eyes Under Water

At the Great Salt Lake I enter expecting cool respite
from cross country travels with a man I left
in San Francisco. He dug spurs in his pristine Mustang
to fetch me in Detroit vowing he loved me;
now he complains about mileage.
The lake is so salty I can't sink, and the stink of it
draws a spray of gnats. The sting makes me itch.
I wonder if I am doing the right thing.

At Lake Geneva, on a sedate cruise
the musician who's paid my fare
to Europe drapes an arm around me,
his touch stings like jellyfish. I don't know
how to tell him I am not in love, blurt it.
His arm shrinks. He hands me a box,
a pair of garnet earrings set in silver. "I still want you
to keep these," he says, turning his face.

At Lake Te Anau, we travel by boat through a cave
to the place where the glow worms glow.
The Captain flicks off all the lights.
When whispering ceases, the larvae appear, dot
by neon dot, constellations filling damp granite pockets.
I squeeze Levon's hand, near tears.
Levon is the man I will marry.
Neither of us has dreamt it yet.

Contact Patty Mooney