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