Wednesday, January 29 2009

The bus station of Tilcara
Is crowded with beautiful young women
Waiting for buses.
Self absorbed, they stand
With their packs and bed rolls
And sleeping bags.
These girls don´t acknowledge me,
This large women in tee shirt and shorts
From another place and time
Who sits on a bench
Clutching packs and watching madly.

The beauties pose in groups.
They move their heads or shoulders
And preen,
Knowing that the world is watching them.

Their eyes are piercing blue,
Or richly dark with full arching brows.
Their hair shines as it`s tossed
Over shoulders, tucked behind ears
Or swung as they lift their chins
To smoke or drink matte.
Berets, alpaca hats with ear lungs,
or shimery bright scarves are worn
With pizzazz and purpose.
Their eclectic outfits
Run the gamut from flowy trousers
With knee length crotches
To mini skirts with
Fluorescent leggings.
Dr Martin boots, Converse All Stars
Or flip flops are the footwear of choice.
Tops are colourful spandex
Often strapless,
Often reveiling flat tummies.
Tanned curving bodies
Are adorned with tatoos,
Discreetly creeping up the neck,
Behind the ear, under the arm,
Or on the lower back.

A local girl in drab sweater,
skirt and worn woven shawl sits
Beside me on the bench.
When she returns my smile,
I see that all her upper teeth are missing.
Her eyes are very wide apart
And dull.
She holds her tiny son,
Dressed in woven shirt
And trousers and peaked cap.
He appraises me with his
Enormous dark eyes
Full of life.