The hotel we’re staying in is named for a slur,
“Auca,” Kichwa for savage, or, the Waorani,
A slur so commonplace it took the conquistadors years before realizing
The Waorani had another name, their true name.
They said this was the nicest hotel for miles,
But the mildew discoloration says otherwise;
When I first heard about this place I was afraid
Because oil towns so barren they crawl with maggots
Make me uneasy, on guard, on the first watch.
I am alone in my room,
The jungle kitsch closing in on me as I breathe in and out and out,
This town made a man rich, once.
What does that man think of it now?
What does that man think of me, now?
By Christi Sessa