La llamada / Miyó Vestrini

The Phone Call

When I asked him why he hadn’t called
he explained he’d been buried alive
and they hadn’t given him a phone.
On his thin chicken lips,
there is no,
or there was no,
daring at all.
Everything was strictly legal.
Is it that you don’t even believe in God?
If it wasn’t easy
you wouldn’t try.
Significance,
signifying,
significant,
sign.
I went to the balcony
and looked toward the park,
irritating brotherhood of squealing kids
and retarded birds.
I heard the remote control switching channels,
on mute.
At my back I felt,
his desire to put on his pants
and leave.
I went to the kitchen to peel potatoes.




{ Miyó Vestrini, Todos los poemas, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1994 }