More from Anna and her adventures in Colombia
Trip to The Cathedral de Sal.
Opposite the hotel,
Graffiti murals their bedroom wallpaper
And the dawn chorus of the motorway
Does not waken them.
Plastic boulders line the Calle Americas.
They spill their contents like split bellies.
Forgotten and uncollected Detritus of the city,
The cart men
Who carry their loads
To the holy land
In the salted cathedral,
Trumpet silent tunes.
The devout queue for communion.
Body of Christos
Blood of Christos
Salty sweat of Christos.
Incense and popcorn
A heady mix.
We are worshippers
In the church of Carne,
Give us this day our daily meat.
Feasters are Serenaded by Mariachis,
Harp and guitar,
Love songs as sweet as lemonade
With a breath of the campos.