Revenge
Hadn’t seen him in years
and here he was waiting for the light
at Howe and Hastings going west.
Shook his hand, found it sweaty
partly because of the hot day,
we never had such a hot July in years,
partly because he was stressed running
to his lawyer to sign the best deal of the century
words I had so often heard
back then when I too was in the gutter and
partly because of the excessive
layer of fat all over his body:
life had taken its revenge on him
in such a strange and just way.
He asked what was up with me.
I simply said I wrote poetry.
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief
face took a smirk : dreamer
he said and turned away,
light had just turned green.
I smiled the way you do when you see
sparrows hopping under the tables
of the plaza and I looked at my friend
the truly ignorant, who unknowingly
had described me in the most beautiful way.
Libros Libertad 