A continuation of the Costa Rican theme

Costa Rican Sunrise
.
Naked, uncovered by sheet, raven hair veils sleeping face.
Awake, smoking for hours, he listens from long habit, her
Soft child’s breathing, a pleasure, but more alert for danger.
There’s a wet job to do as hurricane’s rainy day dawns,
Looks hard out to sea at lowering gray-green clouds,
Fights back chilling premonition.
.
Soon will be time, breakfast: café con leche, pasteles.
He dresses quickly in polite silence, so as not to disturb.
Her expertise is worth at least some consideration,
As well as stack of colones ruffled by overhead fan.
Small grin, buckles belt a bit slowly, recalling
Hibiscus days, vanilla nights.
.
Door quietly opened, takes careful look down shabby hall,
Even this early always unable to risk wrong pair of eyes,
Will be difficult enough, make it to airport unseen,
Told Tortaguero would be easy, it is never watched…
What is it he’s always been told before?
“Con estos bueyes hay que arar.”
.
Just another race in a shadowed lifetime of running,
Known in harbor cantinas, just an americano tratante.
Goods ordered, delivered, or other services rendered.
In darker places, as perhaps someone special for hire;
All depending on one’s desire, circumstance, need…
Ability to pay high fee.
.
No, even though coast might be clear, sins maybe forgiven,
He remembers them all, too hard to forget he’s hound-hunted fox.
Wind’s now blowing stronger, as he strolls down trash-strewn alley.
Turns his back, shields flame, lights one more Havana, while he can.
Very long flight into profitable danger,
“I’m sorry, señor, no fumar”.
.