He Asked About the Quality
He came out of the office where he was employed
in an insignificant and poorly paid position
(up to eight pounds per month, with the tips)
after finishing the miserable work
that had him stooping all afternoon:
he came out at seven o’clock and walked slowly
and gazed around the street. Handsome
and interesting: he looked as if he had
reached the peak of his sensual potential.
He had turned twenty-nine a month ago.
He gazed idly at the street and at the poor
alleys leading to his house.
Passing by a small shop
where they sold some cheap
and low-quality things for labourers,
he saw a face inside, a shape
that moved him to enter, as though
he was looking for colored handkerchiefs.
He asked about the quality of the handkerchiefs
and what the cost was in a choked voice
almost faded by desire.
And the answers came the same way,
Absentmindedly, in a low voice,
with an implied consent.
They kept talking about the handkerchiefs, but
their only aim: the touch of their hands,
over of the handkerchiefs; the closeness
of their faces, their lips, as if by chance,
the momentary intimacy of their limbs.
Quickly and secretly, so the shopkeeper,
sitting in the back, would not notice.
Libros Libertad 