At this jacaranda-shaded café waiters hover
ready to pounce the moment any glass is empty any ashtray full.
Solitary watching is permitted if you’re a tourist
but only for so long.
Those rich girls from Coyoacan
in their dizzying heels and tight tight jeans
salsa by across a minefield of gaps and potholes
the pavement their catwalk. Against probability
they never fall over.
As the afternoon lengthens the dog-walkers come out.
Sooty scotties skewbald spaniels classy breeds with curly tails
jostle and frolic tug at their leads escape
rush round the plazuela in and out of the low box hedges;
go hysterical chased by insurgent children among
the trees painted white waist-high the glaucous blades of agave.
The old men though forever clustered by the fountain
smoke and gossip;
the shrieking green parrots on fly-past
through the purpling dusk
they’ve seen it all before.