SANTIAGO

From the top of Santa Lucia, a hill trapped within a
City, you can see yourself reflected in skyscraper glass.

In every park are couples canoodling, lying entwined on
Spring grass, oblivious, public space turned private by a kiss.

The lawns are manicured, pristine green. There’s an urbane
Sense of purpose. Mountains keeping things in perspective.

The museum of Pre-Columbian art has a statue of
A man wearing the flayed skin of another man, double-limbed.

Another clue from before is the sculpted head of a boy,
So simple, lines so true, it looks like he’s walked in off the street.

Despite my fear of the cable car, despite being fleeced
For my raw fish supper, I feel like I could live here.

And yet the city’s left me with the tourist blues,
Wondering why I’m wandering, what I hope to find.


15.04.04