My Santiago

I, in turn, like to peer inside

into the cool, dark bowels of their homes,

Sense the polished floors,

The outdoor patio,

And the decorated tree.

We skirt water eking out of the cobbled earth,

(Burst pipe somewhere

in Trinidad!)

But no-one seems concerned.

People walk, water seeps, and life goes down on!

We sidestep ‘Trinidad Cowboys’,

On their horses,

Clattering through the streets,

Hoofs striking cobbles,

As they move.

I - politely - turn down

taxi offers,

In classic cars from a bygone era -

and agonise if I should

Give CUCs to the needy

or not!

We saunter to the historic square

Where tourists abound;

Trinidad music from live bands

Waft through the cool night air,

And professional dance gigolos