• Grant Handgis ~ Author/Poet

"First Meal"

A first meal upon entering Mexico on our way to Puerto Vallarta, where we would live. New country, new life, all of it exciting as well as challenging. It was during this period the second collection of poetry came together. So many things to see and savor, the flavor very much to our liking. The words came easily, when I had pen in hand.

First Meal

Squealing brakes

howled after hot miles

burned our thoughts more

than any of the hours of sun

bearing down upon our narrow

senses, like all the speeding

buses before our need of reprieve

And this place of simple squalor

or so we perceived in our stilted view

of life, so filled with polished icons of

home, tempered fibers of social lore

painting pictures of death at our side for

appealing to eat of the fares offered

here, this place of outlandish beginnings

Where here all things banished from

socially graceful minds, entreated to fairy

tales, rendered simple for the simple of mind

those children who wonder of things unknown

like this place we seek for respite and rest

the while of waiting for death to touch our

shoulder, before even the spoon touches our lips

This simple meal of gifts from the sea

promised us a renewal of world yet explored or

embraced without retreating once again within our

selves, that self-mirrored likeness of world as it should,

unlike the dazzling eyes of the tiny child watching

intently our own intrusion into a simple

Existence, brought to you by... an announcement of

venue from a barking television prominently displayed

for a lone compañero wafting cervezas

in a darkened place where sat the stiffly waiting

patrons of doom expecting this meal to convey them

alone, and quickly to a grave for strangers

lingering to long in a place set for only the

Native, among us whom bring forth the

rose, not thorns of life which prick our better

senses, to leave only the small scars of fear and

trepidation, to others yet skilled in maneuvering

the will to wander over unexplained or uncharted

courses in life, where things not always come to

us in platitudes and bromides of faith, passed down

Gently, as reminders of our own making and

pasts, cultural blinders worn heavy from generations

of lies cited blindly as creed, over and over and

over the course of our lives in verse and prose and

parental fear, for their children so dear to an

anxious pride of things to be held in esteem

lest they are lost, like time and a place of endeavor

Grant Handgis



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