Bush plus Batista

Habana, Monday 12 February 2007
(A shocking billboard, posted along the roadside in Havana.)
In Cuba, dark night, her music pulled me across a square just outside of Old City Havana.
I had no choice but to follow the notes—a flute played by a young woman with dark Cambodian features.
Pigeons above in an old alabaster-columned castle.
We sat outside and drank 7-year-old rum and 5-year-old cognac.
Glitter top.
Her voice too old for such a young face.
Boleros and Son de Fuego—songs of heart and love and longing.
Lost.
Three tables only, warm air from the Straits of Florida.
What is this place with cars older than me?
Freedom calls.
Ché, Ché, Ché!