обувь Fitting D

To the sound of a note after hearing a poem about Mercedes Sosa

running runaway Indians listened

Ipod with the beat of Ricky Martin living la vida loca,

saw

pirates giving shots of chichaito

left stranded at the Garita del Diablo;

felt a cold breeze from the Andes

sitting on the balcony my house listening to the coqui Aibonito;

swear to have seen whistling dare Calle 13, lift

in red tricycle that my daughter is no longer useful;

remember seeing Neruda Paz, Hemingway and Poe

playing dominos in my bookshelf moth-eaten on my book Dalí

think I turned my gaze to the shadow of the moon

and see the silhouette of the Lupe perreando with Muhammad and Christ,

'm sure I saw a Mercedes, the Black, the Sosa, of the sounds,

Taral a melody with a slew Morivivi fact,

I confess that I have not got anything to write this poem

note only listen to that thing on the streets of this island.

Sorry, gotta go with my words on the seas

already have my blue unicorn Armor All on your hooves,

far Aphrodite me waiting on baby doll and yellow tration

and I give thanks to life at the end of the day in a bar.