Saturday, April 04, 2009

NORTHERN OXEN


The priest sang like a mariachi
Played the guitar like one too
He travels by bus and
His weeding ring is a scar

At first
He had me fooled
When he kept silent
And just stood there
I thought him to be a monk

Even as he gently spoke
I had no suspicions
But when we finished
Eating dinner
He grabbed the guitar
And began to sing
On the corner of dining hall
Where the caged birds are
Where the parrot keeps shouting

Cabron!
Cabron!
Cabron!

By this the children now
The parrot is asking for a tortilla
And when they feed it
It stops screaming
And we have precious silence
And the priest stood there
Next to the green parrot
And sang something about
Tequila & forgetfulness

When he finished singing
I applauded
I think I even said “Bravo”
Asked for a blessing
And drove into the night

4 comments:

Blog Author said...

I would have to say that I apreciate this narrative.
Thanks.

ScrinS said...

Este poema estuvo buenísimo ni lo traduzco, entendí perfectamente lo de cabrón.
:0)
Afectos

Martínez said...

No sabes que tan grande es el gusto que siento al enterarme de que estás entendiendo...

Efectos...

Martínez said...

BA:

I always try to do my best...

Thanks Bro.