by john clare
this little Cuban restuarant was across the street from the Seaboard train station in Orlando. In the night when Melanie was sleep on the oscillating ventilator at Orlando Regional, I would go over and watch the people come and go at the Amtrak station.
By day the conga played
the drinks were mixed
ceiling fans cooled malaise
beans and rice they ate
come closing the unplugged
to life always came
the malts did waltz
the coca went for broke
next day
not a word spoke
how by the back door
Heinz and Crystal hot sauce
were found lying on the floor.
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