Havana

Havana, where the girls have cocoa skin,

Dancing while the paint flakes from orange peel walls,

Twirling in the warm rain, sea spray at their backs.

Old men recline at tables discussing not a thing,

Cigars twisting beneath bushy moustaches;

Not one is tired of the other.

The tip tap of children playing 

Does nothing to diffuse their freedoms,

As the sun shines on Havana the same as every day;

Linen and Cadillacs proliferate

Amidst the smiles of all.

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “Havana

  1. I have long wanted to go. I hope they do not ‘ruin’ it though.
    The girls yes the girls the girls with those gorgeous old cars that somehow they keep running. A magical place it seems.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s