Cher Bibler
Merida, Easter
An old woman dances for
coins. The square is busy,
it’s Easter Sunday and we are
at a booth on the street
eating sopas, watching little
crowds gather around her.
How few seem to give anything,
how small her take.
Tourists drift past and laugh,
she is a pretty funny sight.
Where does she come from?
What brings her here?
The sun is relentless,
we are under a canopy,
a haven of a sort,
money to pay for our food,
a house to go back to,
enough to feel guilty about.
She has a big radio,
and wears work boots and short shorts,
like a strange go-go dancer, working her hips.
She’s in front of a pharmacy,
the druggists watch and
nod their heads to the beat.
