Lo Estamos Pasando Muy Mal

That morning I woke up immediately
I fell asleep only with the help of pills
You know, the excitement that consciousness produces
Of being about to write a page of history
Can become, at times, unbearable

But I am a man of character
The chosen man, under my pillow
The envelope with the solemn national letterhead
With the precise instructions generated by the high minds
That have appointed me

I feel happy, I feel filled
With holy righteous joy
I put on my shoes and pants and
Start the meticulous and calm morning ritual
As if this were any day of my life

As if a great part
Of the security of my children
Of your children
Did not depend on my hands and my coldness

Breakfast is cold, but I hardly take it
The window throws the light
Filtered in gray from autumn
In the city

There is time for a mirror smile in the bathroom
Before getting into the car
Conditioned for my mission
Lanterns, kiosk, meats, skirts

My youngest daughter, Nancita
Comes to my mind
With her screams in the morning
With her little hands on my head

I know the way well
Nothing has been left to chance on this occasion
I park the car
A block from my point of action

I circle the block
And stealthily climb the gray wall
That we marked in the office as a safe access

In my belt a revolver, in my mind the flag
Three and a half meters of brick between the window of his bathroom and me
I climb, my heart jumps, he has a maid
If she gets in the way, worse for her

One more effort and I'm inside
Accompanied by the morning silence
I penetrate through the narrow hallway of his new decorations
And I stop to listen, senses sharpened by training

I think he's alone, Great!!
There I see him, with his back to me
In a white pajama and his bald head
He doesn't suspect me, he's drinking coffee

I take a look at his room
And see his books
Books full of threats and falsehoods
Books that would bring slavery and death to human missions

Near the window a screen-printed poster
Of that anti-art singer
In a few seconds, with my hand on the trigger
And sweat on my temples, I think of my emblems
Of the just and virile men who have chosen me
In the historic mission of avoiding hatred
In the street that will bear my name

But I don't want him to die without knowing why he dies
I call him by his name, I read the terror
And a look of disappointment on his hated face
I ask him

Why don't you sing now?
What happened to your rhetoric?
Why don't you challenge the air with a clenched fist?
I don't wait for his answer
And I shoot!