May’s long weekend was spent
on a catamaran in Manuel Antonio,
the crew’s thick Jamaican tongues
twisting around Tico Spanish.
On the upper deck
I said I was leaving you
and couldn’t look you in the face.
A dolphin laughed
and an Indian couple on their honeymoon
asked you to take their picture.
For three hours you tried
to untangle my reasons
until we both got sea sick
and spent the sunset hanging
our heads over the rails.