The sun is more powerful here
in this ancient Mayan ruin —
where time-travelling portals
were built with masterful precision.
Symmetry aligns with serpentine shadows
on equinox days, impressing in ways
that transcend any tourist gift shop offering.
Even when the temperature hits triple digits,
loud gringos in their louder shirts
climb hundreds of stairs that dominate
the north platform-temple’s pyramid,
showing off as they bound up the 98 feet.
The summit presents a breathtaking vista.
It is only then that these bellowing blowhards
realize that they cannot easily descend
from that paralyzing height.
There are no handrails — only open air,
and the real possibility of some horrible
and damaging fall. Beyond the protection
of patriarchal pride, these men deliberate
on hands and knees, backing down
inch by inch in an embarrassing display
of how little foresight exists in this
mighty, modern world — where it is easier
to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
From a safe distance, they almost seem
to be kneeling in prayer, but this supplication
is more entreaty to reach ground safely
than sacred promise made in heartfelt contrition.
If you listen closely to the wind, you’ll hear
the feathered serpent god Kukulcan laughing.