This means you have me as I am now and not via the tracks I have taken and
The dust that’s fallen on former versions of myself, hanging up in
The gallery that is my life , is me,
My curation
My soul’s memories of myself and others and
I envy myself, the places I have been and the fun I have known – never alone, never unhappy,
Never a crooked smile, unless I request my deleted items be undeleted
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
Being Every Day 