Keith Armstrong

Museum of the History of the Revolution

Moncada Barracks

Here there are:

field guns,

remnants of scorched earth

and grass

the Guerillas chewed

All enclosed in;

pock-marked walls,

a shot-up barracks

with windows

you can now see children through.


This is:

the Museum of the History of the Revolution;

outside, across the road,

it is being extended,

all the time.


Cuba, Crocodiles, Rain

Havana, 1976


It is raining on crocodiles,

bullet-tears on the scales.

Here, where the balance of power has changed.

These banks of hardened green-backs, spread

stoned along the water’s edge,

are caged

like old dictators,

reigns ended

as young Cuba

surrounds them.



Keith Armstrong © 2014

Image of Che Guevara


Across Revolution Square,

his face beams

redder and larger than

the sun.

Can any one man

be this big?

He is a Christ to them;

an ideal inflatable,

blown by a strong wind

that clenches the U.S. flag

in its grip

and tears it

into what it is:

pieces of bought skin.

Guevara -

whose dreams go on

purposefully drifitng,

pinning shirts

to sweating backs.

In the haze of Havana,

the heat  from his gaze

burns a laser-way

through the Yankee jungle

to the other side.

Across Revolution Square,

he is above all men

a man.



Keith Armstrong © 2014