Castro in the Cantina

He looked like Castro with a lesser beard
And younger by a bit, as I then thought.
Perhaps he’d spot the tyrant twenty years,
But the nose, cheeks, and eyes the photos brought
Across the Strait of Florida, he shared.
He must be far older than I, with wife
And full-grown sons across the table there.
Undoubtedly he led a different life.
I looked again and saw his gray matched mine,
And estimated once again his age.
Around his eyes I saw no trace of lines:
Late forties say? My thoughts were not assuaged.
Here was a man much older than my mind,
And if he looked at me, what did he find?

This entry was posted on August 21, 2011 at 9:13 pm and is filed under English Sonnet, Iambic Pentameter. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.

| Print