Last Mojito, The

Coat of Sorrow

56 THE LAST MOJITO Coat of Sorrow And so it is that rage Remains incomplete In the beds where we sleep Week after week, unable To keep the pace Of life steady, the dream Alive and ready for what peril Faces a nation in grief, Impotent to speak its peace, Except in whispered words Which seek to explain how rubble And twisted steel weaken The faith we swore to follow. We walk the crooked streets In this arhythmic city, Watchful of a sky Whose clouds billow and swell— Ominous towers of smoke Stacked high to blow us From here to kingdom come At a moment’s notice, Until we turn our backs And beat a slow retreat home To visit empty rooms Where yesterday’s clothes hung, Long before they vanished And left us wearing nothing But a coat of sorrow. ...