Belize

Sea breeze
and crisp waves
crash against the wall;
like memories –
hippocampus hemorrhaging.

Cured scenes killed
by half-crazy roughians;
plight for survival,
anti-revival – of times
where young and old could
walk serene streets;
sweetly sleep in Belize sheets.

But as night falls,
so does trust:
in our fellow man,
brothers and sisters;
in police,
the fearful underpaid
who parade in pansy packs,
nightsticks at their backs,
broken bicycles
leaving temporary tracks –
of hope.

How shall we cope,
my home?
When a child can no longer roam
neighborhood streets
before being shown
that stray – bullets
break the days when
momma prayed and prayed—
baby get home safe…