Pájaros Mojados
Quique González
Wet Birds
This tormented summer morning
I woke up without taking a sip.
All the birds were wet,
lined up on the clothesline.
Headlines lie, stadiums tremble,
two toasts burn in the bar downstairs,
I have a championship hangover,
but everything smells good.
What I wanted was to keep dreaming
of naked women going to work
on red buses.
This summer storm is a second
of a whole winter.
The world spins in an absurd direction
while I wait for you.
I look for a safe place,
I look the other way
if it gets ugly.
The world spins in an absurd direction
while I wait for you.
Some bars are poisoning us,
getting us drunk with delayed effects.
You poison me with expensive perfumes,
but then it hurts the same.
I get out of bed, light a firecracker,
another summer escapes in an armored van,
all the birds were wet,
everything smells good
