Poetry |
Executive Presence
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As we walked from the Malecon into the heart of old Havana a piercing gaze captured our attention. The curious man’s head moved with us as we wandered into his kingdom—we were now under surveillance. Making a throne on the stoop of a long-neglected building, he monitored the street activity behind secret-agent sunglasses. His calm, lined face held stories etched by years of hardship. He wore a once bright-white panama hat that tilted from the weight of a rooster. Chewing on an unlit Cohiba, he commanded attention without a movement. Is the friend perched on his head a remnant of a richer life, or a metaphor for Castro’s promises? There was probably a time in Havana when he strutted like a rooster, filled with dreams for an abundant future that was never realized. Yet, a rhythm surrounds him. The drum beat of spirit, the samba of imagination. On this small island stage of survival, central casting has given his ingenuity a lead role. He has learned to turn drama into comedy, wearing a rooster on his head. |