FreeWrights Peer Review™

revision:


San Antonio is sandy roads
lined by wiregrass and lantana
growing wild. Corona washes
down flautas floating in a habanero
sauce that melts the Florida sun.

A woman there wears a red top,
enters the world every day
through a painted gate to water
the beds. Her scooped neckline dips
as she talks to panting marigolds,
and I dream of finding doubloons
along a beach on the Spanish Main.





During The Drought


San Antonio is sandy roads
lined by wiregrass and lantana
growing wild. Corona washes
down flautas floating in habanero
sauce that melts the Florida sun.

A woman there, wearing a red top,
enters the world every day
through a painted gate to water
her garden. Her scooped neckline
dips as she talks to her marigolds,
while I dream of finding doubloons
on a beach in the Spanish Main.

Just the right amount of spice here, Steve. But I have a couple of thoughts.

Line 4 might read better with an article: flautas floating in a habanero/

The word while does not imply cause and effect. Certainly the woman significantly contributes to your dream. Consider, “and I dream…”

It may be correct to say “in the Spanish Main” but I’m thinking on or of in place of in.

Allen

Bluejay. I enjoyed exploring your poem
Allen’s suggestion about S1L4 makes sense to me.
S2 is delicious. My only complaint is the use of ‘her’, twice in S2L4 and immediately again in L5.
But it doesn’t really detract from the poem so maybe I’m just looking for something to niggle about.

And now I know the difference between a habanero and a habanera.

http://tinyurl.com/yvbh37

k

Thanks. Valid points from both of you.

I like your revision, Steve. Panting marigolds is effective, and along a beach gives more imagery--stretches it out. And the beginning of S2 is smoother.

Allen

Gracias. I have, for whatever reason, taken a more sensual road lately. A friend says I have been so masculine my whole life that now I am discovering the other side. Good thing she is a woman, or fat lips would be the order of the day. And not from botox.

You peppered this thing with all the elements for me of Miami Beach (where I usually spend half my time, but haven't been lately): habanero, sauce ("salsa"= dance of sex), wetting the beds (great line - and the latin women do just that, nothing like them, heads and tails my friend..."oye!"). Beautiful, Steve...sensuous, without being obvious. My only complaint is that you got me longing for the rhythm of steamier climates.

I have a questio. Is this San Antonio in Florida? or is it Texas? Because flautas are probably not the kind of food you'd readily find in Florida. It would have to be a a Mexican food place. By the way, I was a chef once upon a time and I think the habanero chile takes its name from other the la Habana Cuba. I think it comes from Peru. The Chiles we have in the caribbean are much smaller than any of the chiles from Mexico or Peru.

sergio

About 30 miles north of Tampa there is a little smudge in the road with the name San Antonio. It has a great little Mexican restaurant, and not much else.

The more I read this poem the more I like it. It brought back an old memory of Florida. I traveled through the state with a friend in the 70's. He passed away this week. Everything I am writing is about him. I think it is "an habanero" since that h is silent.

Sergio