The Last Port By Ronny The black sand beaches of San Jose are strewn with trash and lovers pretending they're in paradise the smoke stacks of a Plant in the distance puts a creamy haze on the farewell sun. I meet a fisherman named Jesus returned with a catch he speaks three languages and a little Greek his wife runs a whorehouse a couple of blocks from the dock strange the way a man can love and hate his life. I pass three prostitutes infront of a meat shop looking up at me almost innocently I hand them each a cigarette and sit down they reek of thick sex and unnamed purfume the eyes ask why I'm hesitating as we exchange polite nothings something says I've done this a hundred times before. the nights gets deep and I go to sleep on a crumbling pier of rusted iron and concrete the ocean laps my ears and seems to touch my feet God is in the sky, guiding the roaming stars a sultry breeze bring weary rest and heavy dreams. Morning comes before light work has begun as a steam propelled pulley lets down the boats filled with men sailing away slowly into another day the sun takes its time to rise over the rolling roof of water all is delicious and blinding in this old world made new. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Back