Bautista bats right,
Castro leaned in left,
Castro: castrated, castigated
his people, pueblo cubano.
Pueblo that powerful word,
Means place and people
one in the same name.
You can leave this place
but the people remain.
Feast of the Goat, el chivo.
Chivo, bicho, moscas,
moscas Tachos, moscas Castros.
Is he, though,
when his people linger in woe?
Not the hammer and sickle but the hammer of justice.
Justice, just in case.
Free verses, free spirits: almas las dos.
Guantanamera, guajiro, guante.
Power of pen, symphony of sound.
“Chan-chan” chants the Buena Vista Social Club
“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes” belts Bowie.
Both are calls waiting for responses.
Cuban song, Cuban son
Social Club brought son to the world,
socialism kept the world at bay.
Bay of Pigs, pigs worse than goats, brought the hemisphere hella close
to what? Who the hell knows?
Ask Fidel’s ghost if even he knows.
Fidel, baptized by water 90 years ago,
baptized by fire in ’59.
That ’59 sound? Sound of fury,
Sound of silence traveling
ninety miles for ninety years.
Calle Ocho, “¡Cállense!” said some.
Others said “¡A cantar!”
Streets in Miami spill tears for sons.
José Martí, José Hernández:
Sons lost, sons danced in days gone by.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph” many said with a sigh.
San Juan Bautista
Save the people,
wash away a century of sins and let
the waters of chan-changes flow free.