La Casa de Lupe

Yesterday when I went to Lupe and Manuel's house,
when Lupe opened the door, she said: -He's not here-;
I went into the living room and there was a TV
and there, on folders, the photos of the man.

Hanging is Lupe's portrait without Manuel,
dressed as a bride when she married him;
there's the grandma over there and here's a man
hugging Pancho Villa doing him a favor.

Lupe's living room, small but cozy,
in the center a little table that should retire soon,
and then, on this side, next to the light switch
her refrigerator is all beat up.

This that Lupe has she calls a dining room:
a table, plastic tablecloth, three chairs, and a drawer;
the sideboard is full of figurines,
mementos of cakes, three plates, and a vase.

The linoleum can't take it anymore, it looks so worn out;
over there The Last Supper, its nail and its cord;
opposite, at the window, rayon curtains
and next to it a calendar: The Glories of Don Chon.

The door that leads to the bathroom, to enter sideways,
runs into the washing machine that gives her pressure there;
hanging a clothesline with underwear,
all Lupe's, none of the man's.

The tub full of water, with colorful clothes,
the classic hose next to the irrigator;
there a chamber pot, overflowing from behind,
here the toilet paper and then... the rest.

I went to the kitchen, but quickly left,
it smelled really bad from the rags in there,
the dirty dishes, I think from the day before
and they say Lupe's man hits her.

Finally, I reached the room for sleeping,
the bed wasn't made... no one's going to die!;
there, on the little bureau, a suit and a watch,
also the candle to the Virgin of Forgiveness.

A bunch of pictures, wardrobe and dresser
full of potions, makeup, and lotion,
a kilo of wigs, plenty of fake ones,
reason for them to call Lupe