John Buckler is an artist

Cuban Sprinters

sprinting then
clearing two stairs at a time
three-legged red-faced boys grinned
from prep school to bible class
stiff-kneed in their ecstasy’s awkwardness
each held by the slim thread’s ankle on a Cuban girl

whose sun shoes flapped loud on the terrazzo
as their giggling called the lift
snatched at the elderly gate clasp and clanged it aside
their legs diamonds
the sun sweating down as they sang

a desk clerk’s eyebrows rose from their launchpad
but sank back as the system failed
hooding instead the need to count keys
and shuffle jealous and disappointed banknotes

we all sighed and played with our fingers
and sank deep into plump rush chairs.

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