Hobble Creek Review
The Day Laborers
The Mexicans pressure clean my complex walls. Trucks
gather them from corner gas stations before dawn, eight
at a time in a wooden planked flat bed.
I have traveled to Chichen Itza, climbed the ninety-one
steps of the Pyramid of Kulkulhan. From my perch, I
surveyed the precise walls, the massive playing fields
of the Mayan village.
Afterwards, we stopped at a small kiosk , dickered
for pennies we found behind couches, under kitchen counters.
I bought some silver jewelry dotted in malachite. Returning
to the resort, I watched the iguanas stretch in a nap
and enjoy the afternoon sun.
My coffee drips and plunks accompanied by sounds
of laughter, clipped Spanish cadences. From my
stark white box I watch brown sluice slide over windows,
run-off into the streets.

Carol Parris Krauss lives in southern Florida with her daughter, Kelly,
where she teaches. Her poetry has appeared in The South Carolina
Review, Blue Collar Review, and Pebble Lake Review, among others.
Her chapbook, Sisters, is soon to be released from Pudding House
Press.