La Villerita

The little Villerita, a shack of tin, cardboard, and sheet metal,
she paints her lips, combs her hair
newly dyed golden blonde
that was black yesterday.

Deceptive heels,
only seventeen years
just turned.

She flies from the nest,
the grandmother takes care
sleep peacefully
my sweet child...

Fly dreaming to have one day
like everyone else the well-deserved happiness,
that which in magazines makes her envious,
bad seed, lost bullet...

Fly, her ambitions fly high,
she dreams of finding solutions for her life
to banish the misery from her corners
dwelling and shelter without deprivations...

I saw you naked,
your cold, shameless body
lowering the coat.

And in love
for two cents the same judge
who has condemned you.

Supermarket
selling kisses, pleasure, and delights
for a few pesos.

Twenty windows
before the bridge, very little light
Panamericana...

Fly high so they can't reach you,
fly so the vultures of mud can't reach you,
those who only pull the cart,
eight forty, they must be erased!

Fly if you want to change your life,
fly before the night covers your days
my dove! wounded dove!
My little Villerita! my dove!