Prisoner of War
The wind rustles the leaves and the sound brings memories from
another time of not so long ago when I was happy
it is Indian Summer
Past the barb wire there were Clouds today in the sky
the Sun was warm
but somehow my spirit was sad.
Her smiling lips and beautiful face took form amongst the
Clouds
she stared at me with her limpid
eyes
Remembering love made me leave the yard
the coldness of her silence has chilled these memories
we had
or I dreamed we had
The Wind and Dust burn my eyes
the Wind and Dust from Indian Summer
Boiled some water
was drinking a cup of coffee
and was thinking
of writing of the imprisoned
Cubans
We talked today
they called me a political prisoner
like them
They thought the United States and President Carter
would set them free
Fidel Castro gave them liberty they told me
and why had the United States made prisoners of them?
they asked me
There was no answer for me to give them, so I told them a joke
about Jimmy Peanut
and Hollywood Reagan
they laughed
Today I write scattered and broken words of an Indian Summer
talk to myself - drink coffee - stay in my cell
Dream of her eyes, the Village, the People,
the Children
Prisoner of War - We don't forget
- Bobby Garcia - October 27, 1980
