Epitafio Para Joaquín Pasos

He walked these streets on foot, no job, no place, not a dime to his name.
Only poets, hookers, and hustlers knew his verses.
He never traveled abroad.
He was locked up.
Now he’s dead.
No monument for him...
But remember him when you see concrete bridges,
giant turbines, tractors, shiny silos, good governments.
Because he purified in his poems the language of his people,
in which one day they’ll write trade treaties,
the Constitution, love letters, and decrees.