Dog Day Sundown
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.
Bryan Murphy is a former teacher, translator and frequent visitor to the Pacific coast of Mexico. His poems "Rule of the Road" and "Bloody Student Cuts" appeared in Dead Snakes in March 2011. He lives in Turin, Italy. A volume of his short stories, provisionally entitled "Padania Blues" is forthcoming.