A favour, somewhere outside Havana

Camel back

Fist snack

Taken from

A branch

Hanging low

Over Cadillac

Driven last

On a track

Broken off

From Havana.

Pomegranate

Hip flask

Drunk deep

From lip-

Thirst, taken

Out from glove-

Box locked up

For fear of

Bandit- brigands

Drawing near.

But lonely

Is the track

With the Cadillac,

Deserted in the

Heat, it hosts

Only one, the

Thirst-quaked

Caballero, donning

Baseball cap and

Poncho – No –

In his dreams

In real life

He’s wearing

Jeans his

Father had

From some

Canadian,

Bootleg cut,

That was the

Fashion, so

He’s told,

Faded now,

Patched all

Over, hot

In the heat they

Itch at the groin and

Pinch at his thighs.

In the distance

A spot-billow

And the grunt

Of diesel – mule

As a truck bucks,

Rearing onto

Track’s horizon,

Will it help?

Stop, get out

Proffer aid

To a fellow,

Soldier of the

Road? Hoping

So, he gets

Out, our poncho

Dreamer, and

Waits – under

The same tree

Mentioned earlier

Orlando’s wheels

Turn, truck driving

Over track to

The Cadillac

Beached beside

That strange

Old tree he

Passes every

Day on the

Way into Havana.

Break, stop, lean

Speak, hola,

Man exchange,

Help, proffered,

Help accepted

Wheels carry

Four legs and

Arms, to Havana,

Hungry but

Calm, Cadillac

Waits for

A tug and

A push

And a glug

Of shampoo

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