tourists trampling the world <br />into dust <br />trying to get a last view <br />of a dying world <br />touring the Amazon rain-forests <br />on four lane highways <br />tears come to their eyes <br />hearing of the imminent death <br />of ancient trees <br />sailing on luxury liners <br />to the Galapagos Islands <br />riding on giant tortoises <br />disturbing colonies of Penguins <br />the brochures bark <br />see it nos before its too late <br />for a few thousand dollars <br />what sights to see <br />Antartica hardly touched <br />next on our shopping list <br />Empires temples <br />buried in a tangle of vines <br />the uninitiated refer <br />to them as merely ruins <br />“a wonder of the world <br />that such ignorant people <br />of the pre-technocratic age <br />could construct such monoliths” <br />remarks a guide leading the tourists <br />and then adds <br />“the Mayans are no more” <br />yet there are two Mayans <br />standing beside me <br />I look at them <br />“we must be ghosts” they say <br />while smiling and then get back <br />on the tour bus <br />as I hear the air overhead <br />being beaten by the wings <br />of Quetzalcoatl- <br /> <br /> II <br /> <br />Walking over the bodies <br />of dead Indians <br />I touch the cross <br />upon my neck <br />and think of you my love <br />a present you gave me <br />on our last meeting <br />I notice one of these <br />small brown barbarians <br />raising up his body <br />making animal sounds <br />I thrust my steel blade <br />into this body <br />knowing I have done <br />my duty for Spain the King <br />for the Church and for God <br />entering a stone building looking like something <br />out of the mind of the devil <br />there before me <br />in the light of torches <br />held by the soldiers <br />there are piles <br />of what look like strange <br />Devil writings on strips of skin <br />probably ripped from <br />those sacrificed <br />I order my men to burn these <br />the priest enters and performs <br />a benediction <br />now I know my job <br />has been done <br />I cross myself as the flames rise <br />and I write to you <br />my love hoping <br />I shall see you again <br />in my beloved Spain <br />and that I shall not <br />perish here in <br />this wretched underworld.<br /><br />gordon coombes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tourists-travel-empires/
