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Orchid of Vestigial Colonialism
a southern exposure to Ajijic

la fuerza oscura al Dpto Policia de Chapala Te amo, dama negra de policia, Mirando el banco por la puerta sombrada Del delegacion municipal, su estrella Lustrando encima sus chiches almidonadas. Te veo atras la plaza sobre Cascaras de uvas rojas y montes de jugetes Hecho en Chino pero mostrando Marcas registradas de Hollywood. transl. I am in love at first sight with the sultry lady cop in black mufti standing watch outside city hall across the street from the bank, her gold badge gleaming on starched breast below shaded face. I spot her across the plaza beyond a heaping barrow of cascading red grapes the size of plover eggs beside pyramids of Chinese made toys showing Hollywood logos.	*Esquina tranquila* Moss cobblestones glint In the shade of twisted trunks Beside the wane lake.
	*Camino al palacio* Glossy broken tile Chips every color of sky In ragged pavement.
	*Se vende* Coconuts in husks Sold roadside between ashram And taco stand stalls.
	Gangrene Specimen case bee Drips tendrils of mossy mold From a rusty pin.
E^{M P T Y} S^{H O R E L I N E} The cloudy horizon flickers with lightning every night, but little rain follows. The moon hears no music or laughter or song, only the echo of barking dogs and occasional passing traffic. By dusk's end, all dishes are washed and palsied phantoms watch an hour of corporate global news before retiring with a yellowed paperback and olive nurse cum wife whose successor handmaids-to-be pass with hands covering mouths, eyes downcast in oriental demure. Decayed exiles are the mulch locals use to keep fields lush. Wasps' nests sprout from eyes of artisans' masks on the vined walls of gated micro-villas. Would be patricians, yacht trash & facelift refugees yammer pet care tips over nightcaps for lack of any other identity. Rentiers on last rounds mutter laments of false-faced bureaucrats and thankless tenants; tradesmen smile hard-eyed in dreams of gain from delaying gratification. Scorpions haunt nursery corners. This backwater at arms' length from a poison megalopolis is refuge from ulcer in silent mist shrouds. Feathery mosquitos' whines fail to stir the dust of long embalmed cathedrals. Couples court with hands clenched on thin curbs absent of shadow. High fieldstone bulwarks topped by handpainted tile and capped by jagged glass speed death along stone streets narrow and wide but never far from the shuttered doors. Verdant mausoleum creeps down hillsides to the edge of the receding lake. First thing at last sight of the 'rents was crank the triple time disco fullbore to drive out the spectres. Then I drank to stupor and woke for a pot of coffee to face another dim sunset. All for naught; for the next four days, nothing but "Malaguena Salerosa" played over & over. Finally, I was prepared to bail out for my cherished urban rut when el Don calls just as I was headed to a last tortured effort at sleep to say they were in San Antonio so could they rely on me to stay two more days? Worst of all, the smoke ran out the next morning. The horror, the horror …	*Matadores* A shrike, on power Lines blocking the view, glares at Villa sentry dog.
	*Arrollando* Pale green spanish moss Balls grow on power lines like St. Elmo's fire bursts.
	Entertainment center Large & small sat dish, Portable CD player, & 8 track recorder.
	Chapala Pristine towns around the dead lake Feed & feed on aged ghosts, ex-Air Force Majors with hand carved closets for Faded uniforms bearing dusty insignia. Dark hued morlocks wander Quietly in blinding streets; Pale eloi shudder in shadows One step short of terminal care.
	mea culpa a J.G.Ballard de G.Pajaro 9/2000

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