I wrote this poem thinking about my two trips to Isla Mujeres in Mexico.
Ferries with air conditioning ferment undulating human perspiration.
The rotting teeth of Mexican children bathe in bottled water.
Rented golf carts and mopeds swallow the sizzling pavement.
The sun bakes me like pottery.
White sands are saturated with tenacious tourists bent on being lax.
Grey iguanas bask in the sun. I take pictures.
The temple of the goddess Ixchel lies in ruins.
Great spot for a man to make love to his wife.
The gravity here might draw an egg into her uterus.
If only he could do it without anyone seeing.
Great poem 
You have this ability to describe in crisp detail how things actually look just like a camera to any reader.
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