Puyhuapi

I am waiting for the bus in Puyhuapi;
it will come at one, or so; and so I sit
on the sidewalk as clouds drift
through the looming Andes
as roosters crow, as dogs bark
at every car that tears down
the dusty road

On the corner two lovers coo
on a bench of logs. She leans
toward him awkwardly,
curls up and recoils as he
bear-hugs her; she puts her knees
up, giggles and casts her eyes
toward him

A dog noses its way
into Sofia’s Resturante
y Comidas Rápidas and is quickly
rebuffed; roosters crow; has the day
begun or will the lingering clouds
delay the day until
mañana?

A carabinero walks by, steady
stance, steady glance, gun holstered
at his side; he returns with a young boy
and they share a liter of Coke Light

For the price of two liters of Coke Light
you can stay the night in the hospedaje
behind me, which is also the mail
stop, resturante, terminal
de autobuses

The clouds spit rain, part
occasionally to reveal a snowcapped
peak, while off the lake the wind
blows a plastic bag full of air, tosses it along
the dusty road