One cannot help but to compare those rich cruise-ship tourists to chickens.
They strut around the Old Port in large packs,
or groups of fewer numbers,
stopping in the middle of streets,
point and stare in different directions,
trying to figure out what to ogle at next.
Heads bobbing up and down,
looking at the picturesque small cityscape
and in and out of expensive boutiques.
They squawk loudly as they see other people from the cruise
or as a gust of northerly wind penetrates their thin coats
and chills their warm Florida blood.
They chirp and gobble rapidly about the purchases they have made.
At the end of the day when the sun is setting,
they waddle back to the harbor
where their enormous ship looms over the city,
loaded down with candy-colored shopping bags,
up the ramp, and into their warm,
safe,
and luxurious roosts.