THE INNER CRITIC ON HOLIDAY

You will get lost in Paris
it is not your fault
it was planned that way

You may find it unforgivably gauche
not to know the left bank from the right

Let it go

It is not necessary
to criticize oneself here
they have waiters for that purpose

And looking out, not in
you may stumble Americanly
upon Marie’s little side street shop
with bread as new as the cheese is old
and a three dollar wine to bridge them

or catch a brief glimpse
of that seriously happy young man
pedaling down the very center
of the Champs d’Elysee
one foot and a base fiddle
resting on his skateboard

PROGRESS

The roads of St. Lucia
are mostly narrow and precarious

Trucks careening inches from cliff edge
chickens and children clinging
to the wooden sides

Car horns doeplering their nearness
to a blind curve
where one must cede
or both will crash

Slow speeds
and quick reflexes
scare the island food
out of tourists
but keep the locals safe

Close to the beach on the Caribbean side
people from away, in their wisdom
and generosity have build five miles
of well-marked, well-paved
perfectly straight road

Where you can drive sixty
and the drivers of St. Lucia now
quickly kill themselves and others