La Bufadora

In Mexico, Uncategorized on July 16, 2009 at 1:38 am


The road that snakes

to la Bufadora

aches beneath the weight

of stalls and gifts—

here a tree of wrestling masks

there a reptile-skin of ponchos,

and tacked along

are signs that claim

to sell me pills

that salve

and ease

and stiffen

wagging penes.

But as we slice

through mobs,

our pesos deeply pocketed,

the roar of smashing water

soothes us better

than any orange-bottled promise.

La Bufadora

is a crack of cliff

that swallows roiling waves,

and spits them up—

the geyser peacocks

into the ocean air,

a godly comedy of foam.

We wade among the shoulders,

T-shirts, spurts of voice and giggles,

as drawn to la Bufadora

as cross-bearing abuelas

to a Guadalupe church.


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