Havana Dreams

The dream is a cocktail at Sloppy Joe's —
(Maybe — nobody knows.)

The dream is the road to Batabano.
(But nobody knows if that is so.)

Perhaps the dream is only her face —
Perhaps it's a fan of silver lace —
Or maybe the dream's a Vedado rose —
( Quien sabe? Who really knows?)
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.