Heavy air thick with humidity and smog,
a lake of human waste,
rivers of garbage,
rain in rivers from the tiled roofs,
and a sun that wilts all.
But also: lightning that crackles the sky,
volcanic ash black and soft,
rich: the wealth of green growing,
mangos drop heavy and sweet.
Yet children beg in la Plaza de la Revolución,
banana workers wait in shantytowns, dying
and another sugarcane worker gets sick
while the government pays street thugs
to graffiti catchphrases of revolution.
Children play here like anywhere:
hopscotch, soccer; the girls braid hair,
their families gone away to seek work elsewhere.
León is full of murals of revolution,
celebrates its martyrs.
One man says he fought for his country
and all he has to show for it is a damaged brain.
Still he waits for visitors to the museum
to pass on the stories.