a rainy afternoon in Cuba

A Rainy Afternoon

In a corner in the kitchen, which I share with
a rubber plant, I sit in my comfy chair and
survey my possession of pots and copper pans,
think of Cuban cigar and hardening of arteries,
“Only two glasses of wine a day” the doc said,
he didn’t mention sex, perhaps he would like to
know that our Saturday love, is a frugal affair,
bath, clean finger nails and, cute, little towels
under pillows; says she used to be in real estate.
Last time I was in Cuba cigars cost more than
abused whores thronging Havana’s streets, till
Fidel Castro came and put an end this disgrace,
mongers fled to Florida where they ghoulishly
sit and wait for the old man to die.