Milonga de Los Perros
La Chicana
Milonga of the Dogs
Crane, horizon, and anchor
There must be a port here
Polyglot flags and the smell of dead greetings
And girls with clearly
Visible lines of their panties
Under intangible skirts. The one with the carnation took me to her house
She told me about the gaucho uncle
Who lost a hand to a knife
And surely his hand was in a golden box
She wished I were someone else
She kissed me and literally
Threw butter on the ceiling and unplugged her mind
And God, who looked at the world through the eyes of dogs
Hungry, guilty, and wild ones sniffing around this port
Before the terrible noise
Of the birds singing
I escaped through the window and crossed paths with the damned ones
Tearful masons
Sentimental firefighters
Psychoanalyst whores, tenderness of criminals
A recently released prisoner
Sings a tango with a good voice
And dances on the cobblestones his six years of confinement
The guy was born marked
A fledgling hero or scoundrel
As the tides dictate: Destiny doesn't stay silent
And God smoked the world, except for the dogs
Hungry, guilty, and wild ones sniffing around this port
