we pitched our tents on wind carved
sand pits and fought with ants the
size of mice. we woke and ran along
dolphins jumping just off shore as
curious at us as were of them.

salsa. oh… the salsa.

we took directions from crazy
ladies driven to their insanity
by their taste-buds after years of ingesting
the salsa. oh… the salsa

fish taco after fish taco we turned
right through a field on a dirt path
through mountains and passed in
twelve hours only one other moving
vehicle.
stopping for tacos in a village so small
the only restaurant was a hole in a kitchen
where 50 cents buys two grease balls

we stood on peaks no one should ever
have to leave and bathed under
blue skies, a sun anyone would have
worshipped had they not known better.

and then came day 3.

something must have happened
but with all the noise from under that hood
and all the screaming siren lights
and all the airplanes overhead
you sounded great tonight

record spinning is smooth
in its necessity for analog
you’re hard, gritty, pixelated,
a little digital for my tastes