In our avenues, election posters show various hairstyles
of famous dictators—
and I, at 53
having given up a thought of a child, I— (turn to my neighbors and shout, come here!
She just pooped on the park bench, marvelous cretins!
costs us a little dignity)
Wind sweeps bread from market stalls, shopkeepers spill insults
and wind already has a bike between its legs—
But when with a laundry basket out in the streets I walk
the wind is helpless
with the desire to touch these tiny bonnets & hats.