In Havana, the damas hang their laundry out like flags.
azules, negras, blancas, rojas --
tank tops and tee shirts with Che Guevara's face,
waving like banners of victory
Little girls' dresses one by one
hung up on the line to dry,
nearby, Papa's bar serves daiquiris, just the way he liked them.
White shirts like the ones he wore
hang row upon row on clotheslines.
I love the way the damas hang out their laundry.
Not intending to create art.
They do anyway and in their way
welcome us to old Havana,
where you can still smell cigars and listen to
congas tap out a tropical dance.
waving like banners of victory
Little girls' dresses one by one
hung up on the line to dry,
nearby, Papa's bar serves daiquiris, just the way he liked them.
White shirts like the ones he wore
hang row upon row on clotheslines.
I love the way the damas hang out their laundry.
Not intending to create art.
They do anyway and in their way
welcome us to old Havana,
where you can still smell cigars and listen to
congas tap out a tropical dance.
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