My Havana

He followed a dream to Havana, Cuba – amid communism and embargo. A beautiful country this Cuba is, and the women are soft on the eyes. There are whores, yes, there are whores aplenty, but not like the ones in Gomorrah. I’ve been there before, and witnessed drag-Queens offering hand jobs. A sad place this Gomorrah is, and miserable people are those wanna-be’s. He owns the streets, those streets the Spaniards trod, where women break their necks when he goes by. Eyes, like a lion’s, measured the prospects – zooming in on the most vulnerable. His feet paint his story deep in concrete Havana. The rum washed out shame and caution from his steps, but moderation keeps thoughts in check. Those rapt minds in Gomorrah forced tongues to lie regarding the plights of Havana. This is his city, his Havana; a place where life is regulated and the unlikely steer clear of happening