I've been staying at a place where the people live on streets 
     called Baneberry Lane and Red Cedar Circle.
I've touched no one here but my mother and father,
Hugged them when I got off the plane, will hug them when I leave.
Every room has a rotary fan overhead,
Some ceilings have two.
I walked a mile today down the road to a Cuban restaurant,
Had café con leché and stuffed potato,
And watched all the way down there that a dreaded tarantula 
     didn't lie in my path.
Instead, I had to circle around a dead muskrat covered with flies.
I covered my nose, I'd never smelled death before.
But it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
I had my camera but didn't take pictures of it.
I photographed the palm trees instead.

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