Caribbean Seafront
There’s a coiled tree all fire up
in my head and pieces
of concrete on my arms.
I am hurting. Creatures
are lost in the blood dripping
from the lips of echoes
dancing with polished swords.
Who poisons our homeland,
steals its shores, and clobbers
our heads? Father, who weeps
in this city?
As always, superb poetry. Thanks.
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