I want for little more than mariachi bands
And savory seafood, sounds of surf upon
The shore, a breeze, adobe walls and tiles,
Amnesia with regard to arms and capital,
And self-important, jut-jawed assholes
Dressed in suits.  I'd like to ride my
Motorcycle, or another's, I don't care,
For hours along winding roads through
Trees alive with quetzal birds.  I'd like
To leave all that I know, except for you,
But I suspect the years will pass and I'll
Discover that I never do.