Getting A Brazilian Waxing Clip

smoke went
moving into an apartment overlooking the street,
ventilated from the very dawn sunny in
four cardinal points.

On the walls of the bars
no longer breathe the murmur of voices,
now sing songs under
ministerial balconies.

All sailing to a new Molokai
of frowned upon, forgotten,
plague, bad mood ...

All sailing away from that
other unknown islet giddy,
with constant complaint in hand.

Yes, we are more European.
And in the reflection of our mirror,
there is no angle to amass
such and such nonsense.

Now, people are on the street.
Soon ... even that.

(c) Isidro R. Ayestarán MMXI