Breathing Mexico

I.
It's quiet up here,
communing with the sun god.
He shines; satisfied with the age
old monument of worship
on which I stand, sightseeing.
Everything is so still,
as though the grasses sense
that this is no place for whispering.

II.
Little boys in the streets,
juggling for the rare,
worthless peso.
There are no trees here;
spiders are the only indication
nature has not abandoned this place.
Smog settles into an inexhaustible sleep
around the metropolis.

III.
Lemon juice for salad dressing?
Naps, en la tarde?
Does time have any meaning here?
Lo siento, could you repeat that? Mßs despacio?
So, what would that be, en dolares?
Is the water here purified?
Why are all these speed bumps in the road?

IV.
My temporary family talks in the evenings,
rolling their rrr's in a romantic lilt.
I finger my new silver earrings,
and smile - yes, I catch words;
here and there. Context clues;
loosely translated, the key to survival.
Still, I find myself engaged in both
conversation and country.