a realtor in the neighborhood
keeps saying
“you have the nicest apartment
in the building
you should sell
and make a killing”
and i have to agree
about the nice part
two renovations
resulting in
open space
a california kitchen
with granite countertops
and best of all
sweeping river views
eastern light in the morning
western sunsets
and the george washington bridge
sparkling at night
“but where would we go?”
though i crave
another bathroom
and space for a piano
any place we’d want to move
would be a gossamer part
of this real estate bubble
and therefore outrageously overpriced
causing our monthly nut
to multiply exponentially
when it currently
sits quite low
and will soon drop more
when we pay off the mortgage
and kick the bankers out the door
the realtor shrugs
“so you move to mexico
and open a bar”
i like mexico
but move there?
i like bars
but run one?
i flash on an image
of us in a palapa
by the sea
wearing hawaiian shirts and flops
serving cocktails in coconut shells
chatting up locals in dirty jeans
and gringos in stylish tops
could be fun
but for how long?
mexico ain’t new york
and it ain’t america
two places in which i choose to live
two places i adore
(despite problems
in their pasts
and futures holding more)
we love the theater
and our flat screen t.v.
premium cable
especially h.d.
maybe a satellite dish
could supply the latter
in some casa by the shore
but not a broadway show
or exquisite asian food
delivered or to go
perhaps in younger days
we could have left it all
(which wasn’t much back then)
headed south
and had a ball
but now?
so settled and secure
so content with what is near?
while a windfall is enticing
living here’s our cake and icing
we won’t sell
and we won’t go
won’t buy a bar
in mexico