viernes, agosto 26, 2011
El sombrero de mi Abuelo
Forgetting Billy Collins' warning about
jinxing a poem by letting it out too early
before the unwritten bird is totally tamed
I told you about a new one.
We were in some part of Florida
some hole with the word Keys in its name
where Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer
were featured to appear at some point
and surely we were bored as hell
and surely it was hot as hell.
I remember telling you about my new poem
it was going to be about my grandfather's hat
I wanted to tell the world
well, at least to my acquaintances
how I become a better man
when I'm wearing my grandfather's hat
something like:
when I'm wearing my grandfather's hat
I donate money to haitians who are starving
when I'm wearing my grandfather's hat
I call my woman to tell her that I am sorry
when I'm wearing my grandfather's hat
I don't feel like killing anybody
when I'm wearing my grandfather's hat
I feel honest, like a monkey.
But then we got trapped
in a red mitsubishi
somewhere we had to go
someone we had to see
something we had to get
and between a GPS made in China
and a DJ shouting false directions
we got lost like two foreign birds
in a wild wet wasteland.
Billy Collins hints that lost poems
by good poets, I guess,
fly far far far away
maybe to a magic mountain
full of unicorns and cotorras
but my little poem did not have wings
it did not even have any legs
and that terrible afternoon
in that terrible place
I saw it crawling very slowly into the swamps.
Image by Carlos Amorales.
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