Newlyweds Chuck and Carol
stood at hotel bay window, naked,
oblivious to smolder of roach,
they looked to famed cliffs where no
divers chanced to bear violent storm.
The lovers could not help cursing
another consecutive day of
Hurricane Hugo's aftermath rain,
hotel maid Pilar's dress and hair so wet,
we robed, invited her to stay inside, dry.
The three went upon hotel balcony,
and Pilar pointed downward to beach
beyond Federales “No Trespassing” line.
Pacific tide temporarily out,
three little native kids (in shorts)
raced to dig big hole in sand,
lay down together,
they playfully hid until tide returned.
Ferocious tide returned,
and like scene at Pocono “Splash Park,”
without fountains, slides, and glitz,
the kids laughed while cold water
flooded their hole.
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We kept moment of silence, until
Carol told Pilar she's of pure Polish stock,
once “St. Michael's May Queen.”
Our honeymoon over next day,
Acapulco skies would one day clear.
Our luggage packed with gifts, souvenirs,
my wife gave Pilar a “travel” iron
in order to make room, lighten our load.
Pilar gone, Pacfic tide out,
the little kids burrowed into wet sand.
An ancient Japanese trade ship
entered Acapulco port, Sylvester Stallone
partied with starlet in hillside home.
We undressed, gave Federales “finger,”
to Hurricane Hugo, a French kiss –
there was nothing else to do
but let our hot waters touch.
Author's note: Three months before our September 23, 1989 wedding, wife Carol and I played the Pennsylvania Daily Number, won $1,500.00. “Time is important,” we thought, and instead of a Pocono Mountain honeymoon, Carol and I decided to book a week in Acapulco, dance with abandon to Mariachi music until summoned back home to work, endure the “American Dream” storm.