IX / Miyó Vestrini


The country, we’d say
we put it on tables,
we carried it everywhere,
the country needs
the country waits,
the country tortures,
the country will be,
they execute the country,
and we’d be there in the afternoons
waiting for some mourner
to tell him
don’t be an idiot
think about the country.

El invierno próximo (1975)

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

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