Extreme Decor

This one was inspired by a visit to the tiny village of Comala in Colima, Mexico....

Extreme Decor

by Debra Kraft

c 2008

Just off the town square -- a tidy

square of white washed walls dominated

in the east by a towering, white church,

its bells so green and thick they cough,

hour after searing hour in regular scorching fits --

there is a place that calls silently

to unwary travelers, to gringos

who smile like children,

oblivious

to the warning in the six o’clock cough:

Evening comes,

good people.

The sun fades.

To home,

good people,

to home.

So while the townsfolk pay heed, the

travelers still come. They come looking

for adventure, for local culture, for

dinner.

They come far off the main road to find

quaint, cobblestone streets, narrow and tight.

The drive is unpleasant. Still they come.

But the restaurant has closed, respecting

that six o’clock cough; there is just one

man sweeping. Chairs are up off the floor;

service is done for the day.

And so the travelers wander, walking

around that square, that tight, tidy square,

until they stumble upon a welcome fountain,

its bubbling waters a reprieve from the heat,

so cool, so pleasant, so

inviting.

Drawn in by the fountain they can almost ignore

the dead man stuck on the wall,

hanging

like a piece of art,

mummified remains of someone from

some-when, a mummy borne of time,

product of the weather or other forces

unknown to our travelers.

They find it disturbing, alluring and

quaint. 

And so they venture inside.

They capture a corner, a small open room

where the lime trees almost reach in and

roosters crow from the gulley below.

And in their corner they drag rough hewn tables

together, scrape heavy log chairs, petrified

chairs across the dry, wooden floor as they

gaze at the décor, at the white walls dripping

with red, with blood-red

paint?

– “Like a scene from Helter Skelter,” someone jests,

jokes, laughs –

and at the candles, thick globs of melted

wax clinging to the railings, waiting

for the night, for the dark, for whatever

the good people of town will wait out

behind locked doors.

And our travelers joke and laugh and begin to

wonder.

Growing nervous, they order nothing

more than bottled beer

and a side of nachos.

Outside, the sun begins to set.

A lone cowboy casually rides

across the cobblestones,

his face hidden in shadows.

Inside, the candles are lit.

And all eyes fall upon the travelers

as the regulars begin gazing, joking,

laughing at these fresh, new

pieces of art.