My Santiago

A Hummingbird at Jamiru

(10 th December 2017 Baracoa, Cuba)

Day begins with boarding the restless, engine-rumbling beast

that may have been a Ford,

(in another life perhaps),

Now reincarnated into this Baracoa version,

With Korean - Sssaasong - engine,

Cuban brush - painted flat matte rust brown,

And wide-open stallion - flaring headlight nostrils.

Repainted, reupholstered,

Resurrected and re-loved,

Reincarnated in a new form;

Not Ford now, but a nameless Cuban rebel,

Ready to convert ten pliant people

to its rust cushion comfort,

All facing each other,

While we rock and roll – wildly - down the pot-holed tarmac out of town.

Breeze in our faces and at our backs,

We sway past the Sunday Baracoa countryside tableau

of boys riding bareback, with sacks of coconuts,

The ubiquitous football game, barefoot on the rough - crafted oval,

Casual on-lookers at makeshift bars,

And beautiful women,

Alluring, with their high cheek boned faces, flawless skin,

Immaculate nails.

The beauty of a people at their Sunday rest.