Now back into the current flowing past this
quiet room, A taxi stops for me in the middle
of the street. I get in. He takes me a market
where I board a bus which moves out onto a
road edged by trash, blooming fence posts, fruit
stands, tables, chairs, makeshift open air cafes,
and crowded with cars, food carts, bicycles,
buses, chickens, trucks, people, homeless dog,
and overloaded tilting wagons pulled by starving
horses—all moving down the smelly gray river,
a hydra-headed serpent decorated with scars and
symbols moving always in the same direction . . .
hottest city in Nicaragua.
where the hen and rooster
lie shackled together
at the feet of three women
sitting at table
in the middle of the road.
is how they keep
the meat fresh
until it's time to eat.