Treasure Island

Nicholas Peter


Bahia de Cochinos


The bullets fire,
pistol shots ring loud and proud,
across the beach.

Sickle and hammer lover men,
wearing Guevara-grins,
absorbed in Castro power trips.

'Para ustedes, mis hermanos'
my brothers we will fight,
through death.

The beach sits silent,
a patch of holed soldiers,
lie on the freedom-lost beach,
a fallen country,
betrayed and lost.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 24, 2013

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