Chac Mool on the Malecon

I pass you every morning
when I walk the Malecon,
Chac Mool.
You recline in solid poise
between the worlds of human and divine,
your bent legs anchored as columns,
your head completely turned
to the distaff side.
Chac are you stunned
by the female future?

Your boxy form
mimics the block in your hands.
Chac, dear Chac,
what is inside that box?
I wonder what you offer
in your pose of stony tension.
A book of praise to Her?
And what is the singing your giant ears hear
as you listen with such vigilance?

I’m hauled to your story,
but Chac, dear Chac,
you are seriously somber.
I want to tickle the square of your jaw
‘til you let your head fling back
‘til you fall down laughing
Will you spill the joy
from the heavy vessel
you’ve held on your lap for so long?

©Susa Silvermarie 2020