Filed under: Cuba, Travel, eating, fishing, food, hope | Tags: fisherman, hope, hunger, luck, sea
Sitting on a polystyrene float
Fishing for something,
Feet soaked in salt water,
Cold on the ankles now
As the night-shift approaches,
Watching the water, hoping,
For some late luck to
Dangle off the hook,
As lovers sit, some, backs to
The sea, others, backs to
The road, always pairs
Unless a fisherman,
Solitary, but for bucket, rod
And hope.
He sits, sits, polystyrene
Squeaks and creaks and
Waves lap skin and vessel,
Taunting, teasing, ‘What?Still
No catch?’ They seem to say,
Those little bumps and ripples,
Carefree in their endlessness.
Time to go, back over the
Malecon*, home, to hunger and
Hungry Rosita, nothing to
Go with rice and beans
But chilled ankles and
Guitar strum.
*Malecon is Havana’s conrete wall, about 4 feet high and 2 wide, erected to keep the sea out
Filed under: Cuba, Travel, fishing, food | Tags: diesel, fishing, havana, sea
Sun setting on a fish just
Caught, off the Malecon,
Fresh, clean, shining like
A newly minted coin.
Couples sitting hip to hip
On the concrete tongue that
Rims the shore’s decaying
Edifices. Sometimes a gap,
Crack or gaping window-
Frame plays host to rude guests:
Gust, diesel, dust and spray.
Filed under: Cuba, Travel, eating | Tags: afford, cheap, havana, hot-dog, ice-cream, line
Long line for icecream
Eyes are full with expectation.
All lines are long here,
Even Cubans can afford Time and sun,
Basking in warmth,
Softened with icecream.
Stomachs cool with the cheapest light fluff,
White like the linen worn without
A crease through the heavy
Diesel fumes, past spitting hot-dog stands.
Filed under: Cuba, dance, happiness | Tags: carribbean, chevrolets, dance, havana, salsa, timba
Rumba timba samba
Cha cha Cha
Wa wan Co
Sip, gulp, kiss
Swing, lunge, slide
Sway hip up
Round, over Cuba libre,
Marakas quake
Making jitter
Rythm pickups
Through the smooth
Flow of breeze from
Caribbean waves
And the worldly gurgle of Chevrolets.
Filed under: Cuba, Travel, Uncategorized | Tags: havana, lost, love, moon, night, sea
Why am I choked as I
Look up at you
Smiling down on your
Malecon, Drawing the waves close to lovers
making the sea spray
Them with foam
While I sit high up
And far away, over
Havana but not of
Or in her, suspended
Beyond blotchy balcony
And spotless faded sheets
Hanging over windows
Crisscrossed with tape
From the last hurricane.
Need a Cuba Libre, extra
Rum and maybe even Santiago,
To fill this gaping aching hole
Between my ribs that
No sunsetted dome or
Timba drum can fill.
No, give me a bottle of Rum-
Do I miss him or that
Time when I felt
Good about my looks with his on me?
