The King of San Juan
free verse
Sitting on the balcony
of what might be called the penthouse,
if a flophouse can boast such a thing,
(the mini-fridge and upright fan
provide a luxury the other guests-
cum-residents can only envy),
I drink a nearly too cold Presidente
and puff away on my Don Bienve.
My private piece of paradise
dangles above Calle Tanca,
offering an unrivaled view of
what little there is to see
in this corner of the old city at 8 pm.
The old men with their dominoes
have long since called it a day.
It’s still a few hours before
the teenagers arrive next door,
their infernal techno pouring
into the streets from their makeshift nightclub.
For now, there is as much silence
as one can hope for in this town.
The beer’s cold, the cigar’s smooth.
For now, I am the King of San Juan.
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[Author's Note: This poem was first published in the chapbook, Beyond the Horizon: Journeys in Poetry and Prose, 2010]
About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
Comments (1)
Beautiful images!