Strolling On The Malecon

Strolling On The Malecon

 

 

Strolling on the malecon

accompanied by an occasional yawn

in the very early dawn

is an hour of our precious life

albeit shared as husband and wife.

Interminable, but gone in a flash,

while we nimbly run and dash,

I in my slinky black and blue,

such sporty clothes for all to view,

hubby wearing varied things,

anything the new day brings.

 

 

Grandma clutches a little child,

a darling one so meek and mild,

there’s lots of other Mexicans too

and many a hard-working crew

cleaning up the telltale messes

from yesterday’s great excesses.

Mexicans dress like they’re cold

while we northerners are more bold

baring our arms and legs so white

as if they’ve only seen the night,

while strolling on the malecon

in the very early dawn.

 

 

There’s umpteen dogs a plenty,

I’ve counted more than twenty,

some like bullets whizzing by

almost knocking me to my thigh,

some are docile, led by masters

hoping to avoid certain disasters,

other dogs think they’re the boss

as they cavort and criss-cross,

some in packs frolic and bark

stopping only to leave their mark,

while strolling on the malecon

in the very early dawn.

 

 

The waves are soothing at the shore

while fishermen perform the chore

of tossing nets to snare the fish.

I hear a lullaby, the fisher’s swish,

near the rowboats parked at the edge

almost looking like a shoreline hedge.

As we walk, the looming mountains stare

at the panoramic malecon we share,

I stare back in awe at that far land

across the Lake Chapala so grand,

while strolling on the malecon

in the very early dawn.

 

 Catherine A. MacKenzie

Email: writingwicket@gmail.com