This Year Alas, Your Wallet
Every time you travel down to Mexico
you lose something, sun-struck calamities
afternoon misplacements while you nap,
worries about work happily lost
along with intentions to diet, drink less
and this year alas, your wallet,
its leather and lost pesos adrift
among the lavish bougainvilleas.
How will you buy new intentions
when money, driver’s license and credit
cards may float on dark cobbled streets?
Even now some miscreant may be
celebrating inside your monetary skin
flashing his sudden winning hand
diamonds dangling from his sombrero rim
as he speeds through crowded plazas
laughing at one-way signs,
waving your license, collecting fines.
A sudden knock at your door, there stands
the ragged taxi driver from last night
a wide gap-toothed smile, your wallet in his hand.
Your life unexpectedly returned to you
shining, collected and complete
like a holiday photograph album.
Money, license, credit cards intact
all that was lost: your assumptions
prejudices and preconceptions.
By Margaret Zielinski