Andalucian Red Wine: part I

Big fan of the wine here…


I took the midday train

to Spain

and found old women


and dancing

in the

middle of the

cobblestone street

tapping their canes

to the beat

while kids splashed in fountains

to spite the heat.

But then the rains came to Spain

and the drains failed to drain

so the rain turned to a flood.

But just as flood waters

began to rise

and we were getting high

one last time

on the finest wine

you can find

this side of the Pyrenees,

flood waters started to part

like the Red Sea

and a flamenco dancer

outstretched her hand to me,

“Put on your dancing shoes


this is just the opening band”

but she said so in Spanish,

so I didn’t really understand.

I took off my shoes,

handed them to her,

and ran.

But my feet began to hurt,

all banged up

from the cobbles

of Triana


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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. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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