ACAPULCO HOLIDAY Each evening the sunset offers itself up like a gaudy sacrifice we’ve come to expect, but it plays itself out as grudging, insincere.  We watch the gold flare to yet one more brilliance; a spike of crimson repeats twice: the trailing clouds are cut. Another evening has given way to night.  Three days gone.  Four.  We forget why we came here.  We strike up talk with strangers, price blankets, bargain for what we do not want.  The jazz band plays New York sounds.  We grow careless, the regret we once felt is gone like lost small change.  Local ice laces drinks:  coconut filled with rum razzmatzz; still no mariachi. Poem by Miriam Kotzin