Invited to Cuba by the Maximum Leader, George and his team take the opportunity to visit Guantanamo Bay.

A man came up when they were outside,

Asking them if they would care for a ride

In his jeepney, parked there by the road,

A real thing of beauty to behold,

With painted pictures on all sides,

Of saints, and starlets and beaming brides,

Gleaming chrome fittings from front to back,

Bumpers, and ladders, and luggage racks,

And on the roof a candelabra,

Supporting a picture of Che Guevara.


George and all the members of his team,

Were fascinated by this rococo machine,

And as the driver seemed a reliable man

They asked if he could follow their plan

To go up to the mountains and down to the sea

So they could enjoy all the lush scenery.

No problem at all, the driver concurred,

And soon proved he was as good as his word

By driving them up over long winding roads,

Through thick forests  of pine the natural abode

Of colourful birds in variety many

Screeching in a raucous cacophany.


At the highest point they stopped to look down

At the vast panorama which did them surround,

Hillsides of trees sloping down to the plain,

Then field after field of green sugar cane,

And coconut palms, but just before the sea,

But a long way distant there seemed to be

Little specks of orange, moving to and fro.

Asking just what were those things down below,

The driver murmured that he really didn’t know.


They continued their journey down from the heights,

Taking in many a remarkable sight,

Rickety bridges over fast-running streams,

People living in villages in what to George seemed

To be ramshackle houses made of packing-case wood.

He was at a loss to understand just how they could

Survive in conditions so very forbidding,

It would certainly be hard to make a good living.


Then on through the fields, on to the sea,

George saying “The picture is getting clearer to me,

Those specks that I see are people I’ll wager,

Wearing uniforms of orange for one reason or another,

Let’s get closer to see what on earth they are doing,

And why they are continually to-ing and fro-ing”.


The road led down to the edge of a bay,

With waters of blue, on the other side of which lay

What seemed to be a camp with building long and low,

And surrounded by fences over which no man could go,

And figures in orange exercising in the yard,

And other figures in khaki who were probably their guards.


“There must be an entrance to this camp of theirs”,

Said George to his team with a serious air,

“Let’s drive on up to the top of the bay,

And to the camp’s entrance find out the way,

That we may know just who these people are

And why they have all been put behind bars”.


Eventually they came to a barrier of steel,

Intended to stop any entry and to seal

The camp off from the rest of the land,

And patrolled by soldiers with rifles in hand.

George asked them who the prisoners were,

And the soldiers replied “they are terrorists, sir.

Captured by our army in Afghanistan,

And our job is to guard them the best way we can.”

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