Popular Summer Cruises From $1,239 Poem by Bernard Henrie

The Yucatan turns copper and men my age
steam as stevedores on a dock.

Deck chairs hold our sultry wives. Birds turn
in the cloying air, a cluster of sullen islands
slide starboard.

Natives sell ivory apes, shell peacocks
and shrink-wrapped sacks of dope;

A lifeguard hooks a finger in the waistband
of a teen, my wife burns to a gold lion,
oversized sunglasses mask high cheekbones,
the red plastic frames take years off her face;
my third green drink in a sweating glass,
coconut oil slathered over my white belly;

breakfast jelly, fluttering pennants overhead,
our ship lumbers in the hot salt breeze,
seedless thunderheads roll dry and fruitless
above the funnel.

The resting afternoon drops at our feet.
Can you hear my heart now?
The heart fallen open like a nine peso
melon. The pock-marked moon stolen
from the Gulf of Mexico.






















The Yucatan turns copper and men my age
drip like stevedores.
The afternoon drifts anchorless.

Birds rise and turn in the cloying air,
islands slide starboard.

Natives sell ivory apes and shell peacocks,
shrink-wrapped kilos of dope; the lifeguard
hooks a finger into the waistband of a teen,
my wife burns russet as a lion.

Our cruise ship lumbers in a salt bolus
of waves, seedless thunderheads above
the funnel roll dry and fruitless.