The last cafe con leache.
Ten days lived in, worn in, slept in played in.
Our villa.
We wakes.
Surrounded by all threatening new.
New villa's with new wives with new children in new clothes and new white husbands all with new energy for their new holiday.
Not ours.
Ours is up.
Over stay, pack away.
Time to be on our way.
Least we have this one last day.
Before the envious new invade our haven.
Casting us back into life's hectic hurricane.
One last day not to think.
One last day to drink.
The last cafe con leache.
YOU ARE READING
Book of poems and useless information
PoetryIt's a book filled with poems and ideas that cross my mind. It's a place I can experiment and learn how to become a better writer and figure out how to use watpad. All comments and advice are welcome.
