In the box
by the corner of Ecuador and Viamonte
a pile of peaches
sunbathe
under a razor ozone
lemon
rose
crimson flesh
wrinkling by the hour
I pick one up and squeeze it
until it juices with cancer
The man with missing teeth watches me
looks down my blouse
curious to see
American breasts
"Uno Peso", he says.
I drop it in leather hands
and walk away with peach blood
drying on my fingertips
The street of Ecuador is long
I am already stained by this city
dewing in its heat
but left my towel at home.
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