"All Americans Have Guns"

 Shine

the brittle mosaic

Gaudy 

turbulence of 

spiritual fervor

    like a spaceship erupting

      from a cthonic depth

          Into the mire

           of Spaniards scowls

              and Semana Santa

                 tears in the streets

                  for the holy of holies

They scared me

their fervor

their headless rabbits

and senor Conejo

  driving a taxi

   To the Gold Coast

     Where Brit expatriates 

  are frightened by a toy gun

at the dinner table

"All Americans have guns"