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I remember Mexico without you,
a rain-scented suitcase of cotton lies
tossed overboard in deep waters,
your watch and handgun later traded
for a bag of red mangoes and fresh sandals
on shady back roads behind Tapa's Bar
near that lonely beach in Costa Maya.

I became a summer stray, roaming the island
with wild dogs and curious children, an oddity
spotted by waving fishermen on teal mornings
before the next boat sailing to Guardalavaca
finally came. I remember Cuba without you,
a new sundress with cash from your wallet
before I kissed the oiled black leather
and threw that last piece of you away.

Adios, amor, gracias por la nueva ropa y el paseo libre...
lastima que no sabía nadar.