Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Bryan Murphy- A Poem



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.


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.


The wheel-chaired children are loud at play;
nearby Elke flips a page.
The Maya men will soon be back
to test her concentration.

The nightclub toilet stinks. Lupita
swings it open, meets Elke’s gaze,
sees Lucy’s dark locks locked tight
between light-tanned thighs.

A pacific blue moon dazzles
Playa Chisme’s early risers, not Elke:
she’s gone on to the next hidden port;
the job was not for her.

Bryan Murphy is a former teacher, translator and frequent visitor to the Pacific coast of Mexico. He lives in Turin, Italy. A volume of his short stories, provisionally entitled "Out of Padania" is forthcoming.

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