Havana Beckons

As I sit here,
Doing the only thing that makes any sense to me,
I refuse to block or repress my emotions, as I strive to be honest with myself,
About this hellish brute of a lapse,
The only resourcefulness I have,
Is to retreat,
Or is it advance,
As I way with the furious tides,
I picture a tree,
A willow,
From my childhood,
Upon which I used to sit and think,
And now I stare into the void,
Of a concrete jungle,
That offers me no hope,
Longing to be with Hemingway,
Havana beckons,
trading this grey mess,
for a civilized people
And I must submit.

SDM