a poem where the signal hums and the past plays on vinyl
The static crooned a broken tune,
A voice adrift beneath the moon.
The dial spun slow, the night grew deep,
And rum kept secrets no one keeps.
Spiced and dark, the sugar sang
Of basement bars where rebels hang.
Cold brew crept in, sharp and black—
Like coded words that don’t come back.
Then came the slip of something sweet,
Banana bloom with jungle heat.
But mole bitters cut it clean,
A dash of dusk in nicotine.
He sipped, he tuned, he lit a smoke.
The air was thick with untrue folk.
And in that glass, the hour turned—
A whisper caught, a dream unlearned.
📻 Radio Havana, 2 A.M. – The Recipe
- 2 oz Spiced Rum
- ½ oz Cold Brew Coffee
- ½ oz Banana Liqueur
- 1 dash Mole Bitters
- Garnish: Coffee bean or burnt cinnamon stick (optional—depends on who’s listening)
Instructions:
Stir over ice with the patience of a long-wave transmission.
Strain into a lowball over one cube.
Drink while the air crackles, and the truth plays faint in the background.
Best enjoyed under flickering lights, with static in your ears and someone else’s revolution in your glass.