Through the open galley window,
the sun begins to rise.
I'm cleaning out the French press
for coffee, no surprise.
The sky is blue. The air is still.
The water's smooth as glass.
The kettle begins to whistle.
I go turn off the gas.
A glorious day is brewing.
I dress and go outside,
bringing a hot mug of coffee,
while studying the tide.
Pelicans and gulls hunt breakfast.
Sipping, I watch the fowl.
Some fish are caught and eaten.
My gut begins to growl.
Only ninety miles to Cuba.
Now there's some food for thought!
I could go frolic in Havana;
habla Español like I'd been taught.
The Spanish I took in college
somehow might get me by.
Or may be good for a laugh?
I won't know unless I try.
Voy a ir comer algo.
Bocadillo, bocadilla?
Cafe con leche y churros?
Guapo chico? Guapa chica?
On second thought, I best not go.
I’ll make some eggs and toast.
Spin a yarn of my cruise to Cuba.
Sailors are known to boast.
I take up and turn on my Tablet.
Creative thought begins to rise.
“I dropped anchor in Havana harbor.”
(And, so begin the lies!)