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.

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