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Mario Obrero, translated by Katherine M. Hedeen
and Víctor Rodríguez Núñez

Translation II

The day after Christmas a pile of lights and trees burned in front of the pond

and the mothers with their children

and the foreigner wearing moccasins and talking about the influence of colorless hydrangeas in

             the development of humanity

and the one who buys the 100 best American poems for a dollar


they eat mouthfuls of brownies and candied pecans while they fight against
             Communism and restore world peace
the Catholics sang their carols in Lafayette Square with a candle and a bag of fried pickles
while America like a sunken bike bought gift cards for her daughters


she bought sunflower seeds and ukuleles and teeth whitener


I haven’t seen poets in Walmart just guns and makeup
let me wonder where the supermarkets are in Cali


I hide my vodka under the flag in the garage


it’s what happens when you save the world from hunger


don’t blame me if I dressed in plastic bags because I was fighting against Communism


if only there were moderates
if nobody had written on the dawn we wouldn’t be standing at a mall waiting for our
there’s a woodcutter in between the self-help and Christian lifestyle books who says she knows
             what flowers Homer had on his windowsill

the drunks blow me kisses from the gas station and my genitals like a sparrow sleeping
             in the flour jar also fight against Communism
they support their church’s charity and sponsor the plastic bottles that float on the
all eyes are on us girls in the hotdog eating contest and the waves of plates of sweet
Christmas smells coming from the kitchen


like a food truck life goes down the neighborhood’s main street


and us girls listen to the blueberries explode.

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