Limbo

Smoke rises from various sources.

Waiting for a bus or a facsimile thereof.

Contemplating like waiting for Godot,

like waiting to charge into battle,

like waiting for the hospital test results,

like waiting for the scores of an exam.

In Mexico much time is spent waiting.

Fiestas happen because they can’t spend

their whole lives waiting for what may

never happen.

It’s a country waiting to function properly.

I’m not waiting for that.

I’m waiting for news that may be good,

in limbo like Mexico nonetheless.

I think Mexico will have longer to wait.

They’re quite good at it.

I’ve gotten much better since I’ve lived here.

I think they’re on to something.

They could teach a thing or two about fiestas;

enjoying life while they wait.

Red, blue green, turquoise, teal, amber,

smoke offerings to the gods,

up a lazy jazz river,

word offerings to the reader,

the connection,

the world we share,

paradise we don’t have to wait for.