A Sailor’s Story

A sailor’s story lingers long while others disappear; its locale point is Cuban soil when freedom was still here. My tall young frame was all decked out with new tight tailored whites, with thirteen shiny buttons new, that much improved the sight. With nineteen years, a handsome face, and soft gold flaxen hair, this sailor boy was sure this day that he could spin a lair. With shipmates at my side as well, we headed for a bar, an outside Tiki bar we found, that was not very far. We took a table near a band then playing Cuban songs, and ordered lots of beer and food, that quickly came along. Some senoritas sitting close to us sent smiles that lit the sky; it didn’t take us long to know, they were not very shy. My dancing skills kicked in real soon with one who sat nearby, and soon we ruled the whole dance floor, like angels from the sky. We danced and danced, and never stopped, it was a sight to see; a lovely senorita doll and sailor all aglee. The hours passed and music ceased, but love had hit my heart; so soon the scene became a room, two cocktails for a start. There was a kiss, but after that, all life in me went blank, and on the wooden floor within that room, my body slowly sank. When life came back and I awoke, my valuables were missing, and so the same was true, the girl that I was kissing. I ran with fear through dark lit streets and made it to the dock, in time to board my ship alive, but in a state of shock. As years rolled on the story stayed as clear as yesterday, and now it’s down on paper stock and long will be its stay.

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Warren P Padla

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majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren
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