Don’t take taxis from outside the Lima airport.
Danger’s written on the license plate, theft will snatch you
quicker than you can pray to Pachamama.
There are men always hungry for something more
they said— book a cab from inside.
So I did.
Late 40s, thick Spanish tongue, leathered skin,
he let out an odd laugh at the sight of my hiking boots.
You can sit up front, he motioned
as I climbed into the backseat, the weight of my pack now a comfort.
Fragments of language flew as we talked Cusco, ceviche, cervezas.
I gripped the door handle close as he scanned me in the rearview,
said, Muy bonita. Me gusta mucho…spun
around, slid a hand fast up my thigh—
split me in a place I can’t tell you