Bittersweet
Bittersweet
Jose cuts the canes one at a time cursed by poverty's grind
What else does he want since he works on sweetness all
around him and toils in fragrant nature perfumed by his
sweat as he swings the blade of global consumption in which
his desires and passion melt in the scorching mellifluous sun
His focus is on sugar which whips his broken hands and soul
Joseph strokes his flatulent belly robustly breaks wind and swings
the bottle of fermented sugar one more 'Cuba Libre' before
he is free from too much reflection of what goes on in his stupor
his aims and purpose in life swirl in the sediment of the night
Joseph’s focus is on how to move his obese corpse into bed yet again
He cuts the chase from the flask and curses the price of the rum
‘Where the hell is Cuba’ is his one lucid thought before he
succumbs to his slumber and maybe life would be easier
if he licked Jose’s wounds straight from the levelling cane
Until then his impotent life falters and 'surely' a bit of sugar will do him no harm
15th February 2017
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