Guatemala
Is full of green
And rain
With clouds that devour the mountains
That grow taller than the earth.
Guatemala stares at you with
Melancholy eyes
That make you squirm
Because
Melancholy is so sad
In the eyes of
A little brown boy
Selling cigarettes
Out of a cardboard box.
Guatemala is cement and no windows
And colors and flowers
That bloom on clothes and weave through hair so dark
And sleek and long,
Hair that never goes gray
And looks so young in the mist.
Guatemala is teetering on the edge
With people whispering
“mañana”
Into your ears
And resting on your shoulders
On the bus ride home.