The cobblestone streets jar my mind
in the retired American school bus, a Guadalupe-
encrusted boat with orange flecks peeking through.
With a hope to shake this day-old fever,
and a vision of a quaint, bustling center,
I drop my pack at El Viajero and move.
Sloughing my shivering limbs the three blocks in a
new direction, I
glimpse the elderly man on the corner,
always pawning his wares, the women in front of the yellow
and white church in distinct indigenous dress,
serving up plates of tacos and fresh fruit.
The faint sound of music stirs the park as service ends,
families pour out to enjoy the sunshine;
a peaceful Sunday in Antigua.
