Buzz

On a relentlessly rainy night in coastal Oregon,

I think of a sun-burnt soda tapia, off the sticky sands of Playa Quepos. The burnished afternoon light is tangled in tree fronds and corrugated metal awnings. I hear the hum of a mosquito resting on my shoulder. The corner cat eyes a swaying green coconut and yawns in the dappled shade. Men sweat beads of cafe con leche as they melt into plastic chairs, watching lizards. The lizards watch back with no curiosity.

I am reaching the end of my strawberry popsicle. It is 17 licks (and a few surreptitious crunches) to the icy core, all condensed milk and wood pulp. Ants swarm the pink plastic wrap, demanding their share.

I think that I might be able to attach some significance to this popsicle. But not now, while busy dogs nap and a lazy sun shines. I sit back to the hum and wonder about nothing.