Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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In the dark light of a crescent moon
The unlit Capitolio massive, imposing
Columns like dry bones, ashen marble
Uphold the Roman dome of empire
Skeleton of obsolete political models
Delta of ascending stairs to the seat
Seal blotted against an india ink sky
Now housing pretensions of science.
I stand on a curb of Paseo de Marti
In the shadow of festive streets saved
Of electric illumination, post Machado
Eerie voices of Senators hurry about
Phantasms walking down the Prado
Their imperial sarcophagus usurped.
Now I ask myself which stairs to climb
Crumbling condominiumís laundry
Flapping, children run, spinning tops
Voices calling out, busy market slicing
Pork, weighing rice, oranges two for
1/10th of a CU or kilo in vernacular
Down Lamparilla right on Compostela
A door in the wall, a family welcomes
You, to answer urgent financial needs.
The clocked stopped 1959, here I was
15, just learning then as now guitar
New chords, falsetas and arpeggios
By morning, looking off a mountain
To dawn approaching a beach below.
Surfing was my passion suspended
On a glassy sea-surface waiting
Always, as today, for the big wave.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F. November 20, 2004
La Habana, Cuba