I took a ride to Cuba
and I climbed aboard a plane.
I rode with thirteen others
whom I’ll never see again.
Three met us with their private jet,
A jet paid for by fracking.
An aquifer might just be saved
Without their private backing.
Another couple on the trip
had similar finances;
they’d fly to Paris just to buy
her clothes for trips and dances.
I wondered how I’d ended up
with people so unlike me.
I didn’t know if I could stand
them long enough to sightsee.
They smoked cigars, drank tons of rum.
they ridiculed a nation.
Their lack of manners and of grace
would ruin my vacation.
I’ve never travelled with such thugs,
thugs with a lot of money.
The men got drunk and grabbed my ass
and tried to call me “honey”.
The contrast with the ones who’d won
their heartfelt revolution
embarrassed me and gave voice to
a socialist solution.
If this group is the “one percent”
who buys all our elections,
I may be forced to move away,
and Cuba my selection.
