Tuli's father is short
and he washes the car every Sunday.
He wears a wide wheeler mustache.
Tuli is not interested in music.
He neither did Napoleon's campaigns.
He sometimes he runs around the schoolyard,
free, with speed
of a centrifugal machine,
shouting from the rooftops:
destruction is me, destruction is me.
One day he is going to buy a motorcycle
and he's going to hit a tree.
Or he's going to have two children
let them play at Arsenal.
Some days we fish pigs
in the Saladita.
Others go by bike
even a chained ship
By the river,
that he is dead, oiled
and everything that he ever lived there
now it is part of a black mass
where nothing is reflected.
We hide there
and we wait until the sun
melts with dirty water
and the evening turns purple.
On the ship we wait
the alien invasion:
some very tall aliens
with neoprene suits
to save us from being great,
save us from life
in the twenty one century.