It's Saturday and it's raining
most women will be thinking of a man
and that majority of men
will be thinking of other women:
not otherwise is the steel of the
existence, everything is an act of love,
even today rainy saturday
this is nothing short of terrifying
unruly and opprobrious charm of the
disagreement.
Others will try their luck going to the movies
someone will strum a guitar
behind some window Debussy will sound
and a can of tomato puree will roll from
a dark gondola of the kid
towards the ill-shod feet of a woman
who will pick it up and look for the date of
expiration date and will draw analogous accounts with
her age and marital status.
But there will be a man
In another city
that he will sketch without any emotion
a face on a small blackboard
and that's how it rains and that's how the blue brothel is
On a Saturday in October
in which a heart will become small like
a mustard seed
Before the day is over.