Links

Costa Rica

On a dirt road, craters big as foxholes,

we pass men fanning themselves

with torn straw hats while waiting

for a rickety bus. They sit slumped

on a board bench, under a twisted

metal cover. One uses the toe

of his torn boot to draw designs

in powdery red soil as his father

and grandfathers did. Behind

is the lush forest, yellow

orchids sprout from branches

of trees; pink impatiens grow wild

along the edge of the road

and across the way banana trees’

large and leathery leaves

curve gracefully. Our

air conditioned van passes

small cement-block houses

their light green paint

faded. The driver urges

the van slowly over

the road rutted by heavy rain.

We see inside to the packed

dirt floor, broken chair.

A barefoot girl in a torn

tee shirt touting “Nike,”

emerges holding a tree

frog. We stop, look; the driver

hands her a coin.

The van labors up hill, enters

our hotel compound, where

white jacketed waiters

welcome us

with trays of cool drinks.