falling out of love

After yet another terrorist attack .

I have fallen out of love with my speciesThere are enough problems in life

without calculated aggravation.
The news comes on

I walk out in despair,

holding to my own small hopes

in the face of so much Yeatsian conviction
Who dares decide

people should die

to pay for what sins of others?

Just pelicans  . . .

ponderous pelicans parade along the sea frilled sand

a procession of self important politicoes

or priests praising their own position 

among their people
or just a group of big birds

looking out for food

washed up on the incoming tide
alongside

looking small –

the opportunist gulls 

and long beaked ibis

scavenging their existence
ink marks on paper

punctuating the horizontal lines

of sea sand and sky

First world problems

Behind Licancaburthe glow brightens,

the sun rises steeply, but clouds form

sweeping lines across the sky.
“Let’s walk while the sun’s obscured”

A hot wind blows the dry dirt roads

to dust so thick it blocks the view

Scarf over mouth and hand on hat

we walk a mile or so,

enough!
This is no gentle place.
By early evening hunger calls.

We peel potatoes

set a pan on the gas.

At 7605 feet above sea level

water boils at about 95 degrees C –

these spuds could take a while . . .
The gas sputters and fails.

OK, the microwave’ll do.

No response – no electricity –

perfect timing.

The local family who look after the place

promise to come round in the morning.

I ask if their power is off –

they don’t have electricity at home.

We have a couple of candles

and we recharged the emergency lighting.

The power stays dead, so we drive to San Pedro

the sun’s heat has disappeared to a shiver.

The wind is dropping,but it’s cold.
We go ‘inside’ –

a waiter wipes our table’s sandy surface

we’re under cover, but still open to the air.
We keep coats and scarves on

even when the electricity returns

service is slow and customers rare.

The waiter is apologetic . . “please wait”. . .

the food is good

though cold fruit in a cold pancake is a surprise dessert.
Back home the power’s still off

we fear for our morning tea

on simple luxuries sanity depends . . .

we go wild with delight as a light comes on.