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Carolyn Waudby

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The Cigar Taster

Life curls though the air like carnival streamers,
the frills of white skirts on chicas
shaken before men like the bullfighter’s cape,
then pulled back, cruelly, like curtains.
Feet mirroring hands on drums fluttering
like moths, hips sketching circles
that screw their way heavenwards.
How I loved as a young man!
The Cohiba – spicy as any Cuban chica,
her guava, papaya, banana teasing the tongue.
Such freshness. Morning, when I wake, the scent
of rum lingering, the washing hung out like flags
of celebration; noon when brown stubs measure
the day half gone and yet to come; evening,
when I leave the factory, two Cohibas for home.
At night the day grows to maturity – the maracas,
the bongos, guitarras infect, the chant of the son summons.
The cigarra performs her best seduction. Oh, how I love!
The richest leaves are at the top, near the sun’s caresses.
I know the very plantation – the kiss of the bonnet chillis,
the bite of honey. All I want is in the cigarra;
mi muchacha, mi mujer, mi corazón, mi vida.
The cowboy dies with his boots on. I shall die
a Cohiba in my mouth, and two in my pocket for the after.

Carolyn Waudby is a freelance journalist and poet living in Sheffield. She lectures in journalism at Sheffield Hallam University and is currently working on her first collection, the core of which will feature poems on Cuba.

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