He put on his hat and put on,
the rain to the navel and it was,
singing a playful tango
over the puddles like a king.
The old eyes and the taste
of mate under the sternum.
And he shared his loneliness
from Mataderos to Liniers.
A collective of glass,
he returned the dawn.
And between the sweat of others
He sweated his own reality.
And he forgot to remember
It was Sunday to keep.
He delayed to buy,
the newspaper in front of the station.
He opened the central page,
and without reading, read, read.
The humiliations, the blind pains,
Where will my expensive friends go?
How alone we are
squeeze my hand
As if it was Monday was,
to the office and sat down.
In front of the machine, the paper,
and connected the fan.
And in laughter it broke,
like glass burst.
Because he forgot to remember
It was Sunday to keep.
He fell on the table like an ox,
of bruces on the eraser.
Laughing. Crying
the loneliness, the uneasiness.
The humiliations, the blind pains,
Where will my expensive friends go?
How alone we are
squeeze my hand
Only among all we can make this a better place :)