A China-Cuba fable: different palms and, yet, the same
Elephants in the Room
When did the Great Wall slip
into our dining room? Perhaps an Italian's
journey to the Emperor's court thirsting
the art of papermaking, a British eye
for fine teacups and dinnerware—
cheap-in-Wal-Mart, or not, in Staples
forget the Long March, manufactured hunger
in the Cultural Revolution. It is too late.
Tanks snake on caked red and separated flesh
in Tiananmen Square the cleaners scrubbed
all night: the new proletariat cheering their first
astronaut in space. No elections in 100 years
or was that 1000? From panty to scissors
clipping private hair—made in C-thanks
the boys in Havana brandish hand-me-downs
Stalin era Kalashnikovs and tanks running
on water. An arrow in his throat or thigh
Ponce lay dying in Havana the cigar "rogue"
can't lift a wiry beard. Turning his tail
to the tiger, Jumbo swats a flea with his trunk
and takes off for Trinidad. In his quest
for El Dorado, Raleigh landed near Piarco
according to fables penned in the tower
before the executioner blind men from states
in the Americas line up in Port-of-Spain
to feel the trunk of an elephant—
a golden arch, Sir Walter's untouchable
not like Clinton in Miami—I'm smarter—
an Americas Summit with Cuba in abstentia!
I bring you change from DC—all that's left
From the billions to Wall Street
We are not Islam's enemy, we are Havana's
We are not China's enemy, we are Cuba's
© Sasenarine Persaud
