I go out to the patio and smile,

in spite of the price on the shelves,
in spite of the heat and the drop,
I cross my arms, I sip the mate,
I look slanted at the sun of our land,
I see the persuasive clouds running slowly,
I hear the bird of the day
brightening with light in the branches,
and I smile, in spite of the wars in the East,
in spite of the senators' salary,
in spite of our daily crime,
of the infamous journalists who
eat our bread in Punta del Este,
in spite of the libertarian imbeciles,
I cross my arms under the sun
and I smile while I sip the Argentine mate,
in shorts, muscled,
and in my bare feet, feeling the rocky
underfoot of
the ancient cosmic culture of
the earth.