Onyx Egg

I bought an egg of onyx
and a skull made from balsa wood
in the airy marketplace of Otavalo.

The plaza de ponchos a labyrinth
of cascading tapestries and pure
Alpaca knits and walls of sweaters

Felt hats and straw hats hechas a mano
and chintzy wooden trinkets and
a trunk of crumbling catechism books.

The sizzle of porks and skins and
Corn frying and a batter of cornmeal
touching the ears of everyone alike, even the

Wine creased face folded on the sidewalk
mumbling for sueltos and garnering no gazes,
his green felt hat dirigible and grimed

And the filthy tiny mutt dog lying beside
with scruffed sores and bent ears,
their plot and plight ignored as Chinese silks

by all but certainly by the man selling coca treats
and maté teas and leaves to chew for three dollars
but we haggle down to three for five

And flying about drunk munching hojas de coca
through bustle and rigor and pale, thrifty Germans
with thick wollen jackets abounding

and patterns of alpaca prancing through their zippers
all vanilla faced gringos like we are,
snatching up the droppings of the Andes

and leaving greenbacks for farmers and their
wives.