Andalucian Red Wine: part II

As the train pulled away

she stood there,

smiled

and waved.

She had bought my ticket

out of town

then gave me a euro

to grab a churro

just before the train came

because I’d spent my last dime

on our last bottle

of Andalucian red wine

as time stood still

and we danced our feet off

and I even attempted to sing,

but I took it as an omen

when the old man broke a string

on that shiny Spanish guitar

so I stopped while I was ahead

and sat back at the bar

until that flamenco gal

grabbed my hand again

and led me to the river side

where we danced some more

under the moonlight

and stared up at the stars

as the old man

sat near the bar

gifting us music

on his backup guitar

until dawn,

song after song

after song

after song…

And I could still feel

the music in my veins

as the train

chalked up more miles

and we left

Sevilla behind us.

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel.
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