I ran that train
in London bridge.
As if you were
going to wait for me
at 7:27 in Croydon.
Another train that leaves
mind the gap.
And me with
a coffee for two.
That is why
I invoke Mameli+
from his death
and his love.
He gave Italy
his spring++.
He dreamed about
a train and two encounters.
About your black eyes
and your Greek blood.
About bullets
and cannons
to the churches.
About your phone
number.
About us fleeing
to Cuba and waking up
together to the song.
The mulatas^ will
remember with
thorns and voodoo dolls.
How you stole
a thousand looks
from them
and a bottle of rum.
As the moon
turned its back on them.
To go and see
your English breasts
looking at the Malecon*.
Take care Cristina,
the mulatas do not
forgive or forget.
But the Caribbean will.
And the Moon that
belongs only to you
and your skin.
Tomorrow will look
for a new love in Istanbul.
In black veils
and red thongs.
But tomorrow morning
there are no flights.
And today there
is no glory in this train
leaving on time.

+ Poet, soldier author of the lyrics of the Italian anthem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goffredo_Mameli
++ “Spring of the peoples” beginning of the fall of the old regimes 1848 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Revoluciones_de_1848
^ Mulatas: mixed-race girl
* Avenue in Havana that overlooks the Caribbean Sea.