On a warm, Sunday night
juat got off my phone
We board an old bus
for Mazatlan's Gold Zone

Take narrow boulevards to
La Playa Restaurante
White lights wound round palms
Christmas in January

After one half hour wait
spicy smells, Latin band
Watching tourists Samba
led to table near the sand

Moonlight, a single candle
the flash of red/yellow fire
Beef on a Sword entree
becomes brother's desire

Spanish guitars play
as we eagerly wait
then "No fireworks tonight.
Storm coming, it's too late"

Three discos up the coast
orange, yellow bright light
like grounded fireworks
complete the night