It had been ages since you left,
and I was glad to see you go.
But now, imagine my surprise
at meeting you in Mexico.
I must admit you have a knack
for crashing parties incognita.
I never recognized you as
the ice cubes in my margarita.
Nor, if I knew 'ceviche' meant
'still raw', would I with such bravado
have ordered scallops, octopus,
and shrimp upon my lunch tostado.
Wine should be safe, I thought, and asked
the waiter for some red sangria.
But had that fruit been washed? Alas,
another dance with Diarrhea.
Temptress and mistress of disguise,
do I dare to eat a mango?
Or will you clasp me in your arms
and whirl me in another tango?
Now that I'm back in Iowa,
my glass no longer sports umbrellas,
but neither do my meals or drinks
lead to impromptu tarantellas.