Mojito by Michael T. Smith

The sun’s fingers clenched the land
And would not let it sleep
With legerdemain,
It strangled it to death instead.

But It’s ok – que bola.
“it’s alright.”I remember the words
my Mother said,
to sculpt my words at play.

I remember the words
my father said,
to not let the world get too close.

But I went through many shades of me,
grasping as the earth turned you away
to see the consistency
of lips spent.

The sun will set,
And the heat will rise regardless
of whether you are there
to see the beauty or not.

So, raise a glass —
as many as you can borrow
and taste the mint of a ‘salud!’
givento a mindset.