LA PAZ

The air is thin. It runs up the sides of the hills.
Life hovers above, perched… By night the city
Turns constellation, twinkling down on its centre.

The women appear to do all the work. They cart
Kilos strapped into bright blankets. With layers of skirt
Sweeping ankles, bowlers lodged at dandy angles.

Could be anything in one of those blankets, as
Everything is up for sale. Later, the women
Make niches on their stall where, curled-up cats, they snooze.

The spirit of the marketplace spills out all over.
Minibuses hire souls to scream out the window
As they hurtle past, advertising empty seats.

You can buy a phone call or a ratchet or an
Amulet or a stuffed leopard or coca leaves
Or a pachamama or dried herbs or flowers.

On the slopes of Sagarnaga, breathless gringos
Pick out aggressive bargains: blankets, hats, ponchos.
Authentic Boliviana to show the folks.

I join the hunt. The women are firmly grounded
On the supply side. They bid you to check out their
Wares. Feigning dependence on us, their consumers.


la paz 2.10.04