domingo, 14 de novembro de 2010

Un Techo Para Mi Pais

Mona covers her face when she laughs,

I presume, to hide her teeth

which reach out of her mouth

like hands on the walking dead.

Her thin frame is draped with scant clothing

and a child on each hip.

Her bun curls into the nape of her neck,

brown wisps flap about her cheeks.

We build her family a house

and not a very nice one, at that,

but nonetheless with windows

and walls and a solid floor.

She and her husband are younger than I.

Gaunt faces, deflated cherubs fallen

from the sky into this starved, trashed

forgotten villa, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires

where no one with breast implants or

a designer suit

will ever

see them.

Nenhum comentário:

Postar um comentário