Can you keep time?

 Trapped around my

Head I can’t get out

Of my nose, it’s blocked

And the swelling’s endless

And my sides are tingling

And I’m sweating

And my feet are tingling

And I’m sweating

And my hands are scribbling

Though my arms are weary and

I’m fed up although there’s

A blind man sitting next to me.


Time says, What’s the matter?

Now is not a fixed abode

It doesn’t have a key or boast

A chaise longue, commode or

Even a settee.  Yes, it rocks on

The veranda and whistles through

The trees, it shows the clock in the

Hall is wrong and the one by

The bed agrees with whatever they say on TV.



But beyond the tick-tock, Time is not

Governed by the fixed beat any more than

My heartbeat is steady when a car beeps

Or dog dies or bird barely misses me, Time

Moves on and its pace is beyond rhyme,

There is no such thing as good or bad Time,

It is the currency with which we

Live and we must use it wisely, i.e

Neither squander, nor hoard

Savour every drop, wherever it may fall.

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.


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


Caballero, donning

Baseball cap and

Poncho – No –

In his dreams

In real life

He’s wearing

Jeans his

Father had

From some


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