From the top of the church tower,
we look down on the wealthy part of town.
Houses are pink and white like coconut ice cream.
Steep terraces are lined with palms.
At market level though,
more flies are swatted than trinkets sold.
And, in the park,
pigeons and gulls beg for bread.
An old woman
sits on the steps of her small grocery shop,
fans herself with an advertising sign.
She smiles through teeth
as weathered as her dark skin.
On the sign itself,
a young white woman,
head back,
blonde hair floating,
cools down
with a bottle of Coke.
I compromise
and dip my toes in the sea.
