Winter in Havana. Cold.
And not a metaphorical cold,
but a meteoric cold,
yours, ours, his, mine.
Vacuum packed air.
Dusted coats.
We are not accustomed
to this winter landscape.
at least the capital
It has cloudy windows.
we are a little scared
the natives of Havana.
At 6 am
it was only 8 degrees.
The frozen sparrows.
A pine in a bathrobe.
Marx asking God for help.
The sun thinking: “What do I say?”
And a dog with a double coat.
And a hen with a cough.
In line at the store
there are people swirling
that is premiering guavada
(it is normal that he defends himself).
What a queue. What the fuck.
They are driving us hard.
What lack of… What contempt
for people’s time.
Hey, poet, and how does it feel.
Make a poem to the prices!
Make a poem for the tail!
A tenth even
says a neighbor, rea
of impotence. She talks to herself.
He is sad? Or does he go to his ball?
He looks at me with a bad face.
every word he throws
it’s challenging lay.
Forgive me, ma’am.
but a tail does not inspire.
Chicken, oil, pasta came in,
puppies and hash.
one hand in pocket
and the smile at auction.
Faces of “until when” and “enough”.
Faces of noble stupor.
Has already ticketmister?
have ticket either pre-ticket?
Asere, I change the ticket
for a love poem
A neighbor has dialed
for three more neighbors
and those who were behind
they protest. They have gotten angry.
The uniformed boy
that tries to order the queue
he is serious It doesn’t control.
They all speak at the same time.
How cold. Cone. What stress.
what parole what parole
The conversation overwhelms.
Now there are “higher” themes.
Visa. Sponsors.
Parole. Cuba. The Yuma.
More people to chat join.
I just listen and take notes.
I see several broken tails.
Long faces. ugly gestures
Several annoying choleros.
Bad faces. swearing.
And a proclamation that does not forgive:
“The ice cream bite!”
But I’m frozen!
What do you say, bad person!
The side bite!
The mouth (ditu) frozen!
Do not touch me. Don’t touch me
The little finger ice cream!
Ice cream in the mouth of the dito!
Together? They don’t even know each other!
And the monkey continues to blow.
And the tail does not walk.
And don’t yell at me, monina.
And shut up. And I forgive you.
Resale? I’m upset!
Make a tenth, asere.
The last? What do you want.
I already filled out the form.
For the yuma or for the daily bread?
Glasses? When I have surgery
Eleven o clock? patronize me
The messenger. Why?
behind Pancho. Did she leave?
I didn’t get gas.
Don’t take a fight, neighbor.
He snuck in How cheeky.
The last? In El Vedado.
But how slow. From pin…
And to dance with Manolín.
“The ice cream bite!”
The last? A patron-what?
I already marked. I am rotating.
Who? On Wednesday. Rolando?
Ah, RolleX. Against Pique?
Who is Shakira? I dont know.
Who are you after? How cold.
Don’t worry, mine.
Crazy, the dao is very bad.
Tiger, he gave a tremendous stick.
My uncle sponsored it.
I have two gloves.
I don’t have a coat, bro.
You saw the prices. Cone!
And frozen hands.
They are badly organized.
One tenth, poet.
In the Classic? what a face
I just didn’t find out.
That is what they are going to remove
little by little the notebook
And I, calm, quiet,
I hear the conversations.
And the speculations.
I hear chicken for fish.
“The ice cream bite!”
No, tremendous fricandó.
It was 8 degrees, bro.
The last person? She.
And the rum in a bottle
of oil! Quietly, no.
two girls talk to themselves
as if no one listened.
Oh, life is so expensive.
Of course, they don’t queue!
Don’t listen. Those are balls.
You tell me… and why this delivery
They don’t make it by the winery?
I trade food for rum!
My menstruation came down.
did you see just vega?
Collage of voices. The tail.
acoustic crossword.
The hash is on fire.
Collage of voices. The tail.
Coke. Collage-line.
Mad-tail. Strainer.
Queue less queue by
tail more tail gives… shut up!
calm down, when i go
I will be a sponsor.
I am not leaving. Neither do I.
And the tail? This is my tail!
Let her dance alone.
The volcanoes? You’re crazy?!
I’m leaving I do not. I play
wood. I’m not going.
And the tail!? I am guajiro.
And the tail? What do I know
What happens? She got stung.
Did it sting? I shakiro!
And while I keep listening
the cold has lessened.
From using the ear so much
I already have a soft brain.
Soft to hear people talking.
Soft from so much thinking.
I carry, without exaggeration,
two hours in this queue.
Collage of voices. victrola
island accent green.
and when we are sitting
and tidy the tail
“Who’s the last one?” he shouts.
The one who sells the ice cream.
Now it is already 14 degrees.
“A tenth, poet!”,
says a restless young woman,
but I tell him: later.
I’m going to buy. He delivered
the card and the notebook.
