TO FIDEL CASTRO, MUERTO. this curious-shaped island you lie atop alejandro has been the plaything of the sea from the beginning it is the hurricane season now sun-toughened hombres and chiquitas skins stained with decades-long droppings of the bald eagle from the north-west brace beings for the latest offerings from across the blue (death is but a way of life) unaware of the hurricane fidel about to break unaware of your imminent passage (but unafraid of the tricks of fate) inhaling the heady smell of the sea mixed with dreams which struts havanas streets you lie there alejandro in your hacienda drinking breath in troubled sips ghosts from forgotten corners emerge then walk up to your bed and dance to the salsa beats tippling out of your cranium your beard that launched a thousand beards (once black now white and weak) lifts to the gentle breeze caressing the coconut trees ah but was it worth it alejandro the dream you peddled from the midst of this island shod in martis shoes was it worth it to have striven and written and nurtured disciples acolytes to bear the flames ernesto smiles as you breathe your last raul a vessel of tears but we know this alejandro you and i nothing ever remains the same after a hurricane
Posted on: Mon, 07 Jul 2014 08:05:28 +0000
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