I.
Elke sets out her limbs
over Playa Chisme’s sand;
fitters and joiners intuit the call
to her expert assembly line.
Dark shoulders stoop to conquer;
firm hands do as they’re told;
lifeguards inspect her for danger, close-up:
beached Venus, pale as an overturned turtle.
Chismera housewives spit full and loud
at husbands’ empty shadows;
girlfriends hone nails to talons;
Elke flirts, blameless as afterbirth.
II.
Wheelchairs resound on red-earth paths,
overlaying laughter from within;
paradise’s emissary, surf-soaked mist,
welcomes them with joy.
Age has yet to set much mark
on pushing volunteers from ends of earth,
nor on their charges, who imbibe the universe
in a different light, if they see at all.
From the cool crisp edge of another world,
Elke has come to bestow her skills,
flex for them her full firm figure
in servitude, as therapy.