So, here is the airport at Tegucigalpa, Honduras-
Smooth affectionate banter among customs officials
Dogs clicking nails on gleaming tiles,
happy to be let out of their cargo cages
A new baby in pink, her bare toes braced
on her momma’s spandex—clad thigh
“Esperamos” say a family group waiting for a taxi
“Egualitos” they say, showing a cell phone photo of
someone who looks just like someone else!
Proud grandpa in pristine white mesh cowboy hat greeting
Toddler full of himself with his red backpack
Besos y besos from a stylish grandma bending to a baby in a stroller
Big boy makes muscles at his shy little cousin, then
hug-swings the giggling guy between his legs
Men in blue polo shirts, a team arrived home
Camera and microphones interviewing them
The sound of Pan pipes, made of white PVC, being played
“Taxi?” “Taxi?” “Taxi?” We are asked.
“No, gracias. No necesitamos. Nuestra hija viene,”
I return. As we wait.
As her bus is held at a military checkpoint down the road.
Later we convene, her trusted driver ferries us away. Up and down dry hilly roads, razor wire looping along roof-lines, splashes of fuchsia flowers amongst the trees.