Saturday, June 13, 2015
Playa del Carmen, humidity so dense the palms drooped,
I'd specified No Salt in my margarita, and It arrived
salted on the edge. I hailed the waiter,
sent it back. He grabbed it up, swished away,
I waited five, ten minutes, summoned him loudly.
Five minutes more, and I welcomed the replacement.
One taste: it was salty, clearly the same margarita,
only the lip wiped clean, salt fallen in.
I took the drink to the bar myself, complained,
ordered a fresh margarita, No Salt. Sin sal,
I enunciated. Back at the table, waiting,
vented my annoyance. My handicapped daughter
rested her head in her hand. Mama, she said,
he's doing the best he can. No, he's not,
I retorted, but she was probably right. Possibly
his mother just died, or his lover left
for another guy. Jennie is often right about things.