Showing posts with label Mexican jungle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mexican jungle. Show all posts

Monday, March 2, 2009

Green In Mexico


















Green In Mexico


In Mexico the jungle seemed as wet
and heavy as the sea, well almost.
A big reptile stared at me with alert
boredom. It had last been alarmed
in 1543, when a mad conquistador
had loaned it all that armor. Little

green lizards writhed underfoot.
I tried not to squash them. Birds
screamed. Trees bent under the
heavy body of humidity. I perspired
so much I started thinking about

how much human salt lay in that
soil. I was going to ask the man
in green about this notion. He
wasn't sweating. He carried
an automatic weapon. His
mustache was as black as
the gun-barrel. This Federale

didn't have to order me to
keep quiet. The jungle had
instructed me. I went into
the hut and slept with my
passport. Green waves
rolled over fitful dreams.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom