Stories

The five-minute poem

The Wynwood district is Miami’s answer to NYC’s Williamsburg. As a comparison point for Londoners, Wynwood is rather like Shoreditch but without the pretentiousness. Hip, arty, fresh and full of colour, but altogether sincere.

JS croppedWynwood rescued our second full day in the city. After waking up with mind-bending hangovers from a night of cocktails and late-night swimming along South Beach, we were slow to get moving in the searing heat.

We made our way over to Downtown by midday. An afternoon of wrong turns and mini-mishaps followed, as we walked all the way through Little Havana trying to find Little Havana (long story).

On discovering we’d come way too far, we grabbed a taxi across town to the famous Wynwood Brewery. The day had one final stutter in store, however: we arrived just in time to be told that the brewery was closing for a few hours for a private function.

But we quickly realised we had come to the right neighbourhood. We found another brewery (Concrete Beach) a block away, and after oiling ourselves with a few choice craft beers we wandered out into a labyrinth of dazzling street art, and bars, cafés and art-houses as far as the eye can see.

Outside a coffee house, we found a man sitting with a typewriter, a notebook and a sign reading POEMS: YOU CHOOSE THE TOPIC.

So I took him up on the offer. In the moment, the only topic I could conjure up was ‘travelling’. The man – whose name is JS – asked me a few questions about where we were going and why, and then said “okay, give me five minutes”.

It took him four.

The picture below shows the poem JS wrote for us in Wynwood, Miami. I’ve also typed it up further down the page in case you can’t view images:

Poem cropped

TRAVEL(L)ING

 At the height of the year,

the Solstice, we find our 

 

selves on a journey, hello

   to Miami, goodbye

 

   the headlines of London. The

globe will catch us as we go, 

 

   years of planning

have made the World our home.

 

   Across the continent of

South America we will blaze

a path,

 

     across another in Australia

and end in Vietnam,

 

   but many long days sit

   between us and that––

 

     for now, it’s the Solstice

   warmth of Miami streets,

 

the music spilling from

nightclubs and in the morning

 

               the beach.

 

And just like that, a heady combination of craft beer and street poetry turned our day around.

We paid JS ten dollars and disappeared into a pub over the road for cobb salad, wild duck hash and more beer.

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