Far from winter and work, the sun still sets
on a perfect, dog-free bay in southern Mexico.
Filaments of eye-candy cloud
squeeze the horizon into layers,
then part the curtain on the evening’s stars:
Mars and Venus, crescent waxing moon.
A watcher on the beach sifts sand,
peers at what thoughtless fingers raise:
a leather collar, cut sharp, stained dark,
a name engraved - “Tigre, Posada Las Americas”.
Inside the town, once clouds reclaim the night,
the mayor sleeps deep and sound.
She’s paved the road outside her house, raised taxes,
“cleansed” the beach. A second term may come.