It's what the ex-patriots liked to say about Panama: "Love it, or leave it"
To stay in one place, with flip-flops and beers not getting anyone drunk enough but only angry ... that is Panama.
The sun shining should keep the flies out, but they still bite you, how that is, I need an entomologist to answer me. This is Panama.
The shade gives you time to wipe your forehead, the mosquitoes come after your bare legs as you dress in shorts and the skin on your arms and legs turn to desert; 'cause the heat takes all the moisture out of your body ...
this is Panama baby.
Noisy cars and loud buses, rolling at high speed, radios and kids shouting, even in the classrooms;
As the tide comes in fast, without warning,
but takes a long time to disappear into the long shores of the Asian nordic ...
This is Panama, with all their ex-patriots driving like Mad Max, watching lazy Panamenians swing outside their doors in their hammoks, made just for that purpose, to swing low, on sweet chariots...
That was my Panama. Friends and great restaurants in the middle of the night, nowhere, but right there;
Italians, Americans, Swizz, Swedes, Norwegians and Dutch; and one pretty lady from Cuba moving to Costa Rica, then to Panama, just to make men mad from desire over her intellectual beauty and grace...
This is Panama! The rich and the poor, the mad and the gone, the ones with more and the ones with none; and many friends from all over the States coming just to see if they can make it in the Tropics. And some do, many of them do, some leave, but the rest build their homes right next to the beach.
That is Panama.
I could tell you about how buses and cars try to make it out on to the freeway on a Friday afternoon, after bying all one needs for the weekend in the Supermarket, but let's not. Panama is not just that.
Panama is all this... love it
Short story by Ivan R
Read 922 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2018-03-12 at 22:54
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Love it or leave it
To stay in one place, with flip-flops and beers not getting anyone drunk enough but only angry ... that is Panama.
The sun shining should keep the flies out, but they still bite you, how that is, I need an entomologist to answer me. This is Panama.
The shade gives you time to wipe your forehead, the mosquitoes come after your bare legs as you dress in shorts and the skin on your arms and legs turn to desert; 'cause the heat takes all the moisture out of your body ...
this is Panama baby.
Noisy cars and loud buses, rolling at high speed, radios and kids shouting, even in the classrooms;
As the tide comes in fast, without warning,
but takes a long time to disappear into the long shores of the Asian nordic ...
This is Panama, with all their ex-patriots driving like Mad Max, watching lazy Panamenians swing outside their doors in their hammoks, made just for that purpose, to swing low, on sweet chariots...
That was my Panama. Friends and great restaurants in the middle of the night, nowhere, but right there;
Italians, Americans, Swizz, Swedes, Norwegians and Dutch; and one pretty lady from Cuba moving to Costa Rica, then to Panama, just to make men mad from desire over her intellectual beauty and grace...
This is Panama! The rich and the poor, the mad and the gone, the ones with more and the ones with none; and many friends from all over the States coming just to see if they can make it in the Tropics. And some do, many of them do, some leave, but the rest build their homes right next to the beach.
That is Panama.
I could tell you about how buses and cars try to make it out on to the freeway on a Friday afternoon, after bying all one needs for the weekend in the Supermarket, but let's not. Panama is not just that.
Panama is all this... love it
Short story by Ivan R
Read 922 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2018-03-12 at 22:54
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Editorial Team |
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Jamsbo Rockda |
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Lawrence Beck |
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 by Ivan R Latest textsMy friendsThe only one For the love of the game To the dawn A notice My favoritesMusic For Four Hands / Variations On A Theme Of RilkeApple Tree |
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