Nightmare
In the misery of old age, we traversed the same streets
with the old stores, beer parlours, exotic cocktails, sweat
girls, the corner store with the oriental owner, the old
Salvation Army bin from which women often selected
clothes, those women who seriously hoped they could
fit in them and we gazed at them reverently and then
we looked at our footprints, let it be holy, as if we were
looking straight in the eyes of infinity.
The local washrooms were unkept. Most men preferred
to urinate behind the wall, all this He took in as we stood
waiting for Him to say something. But He remained silent
with a simple smile upon His lips, witness of His victory:
the dreamer’s victory over the ghost of a nightmare.
Libros Libertad 