Look at you reading that merda,
all its good for is wiping
o suor fora minhas bolas!
Can a poem tell you how good this peach tastes?
How sweeter the juice was pouring
down our queixos as me & minha Irmã ran
from our neighbor, pillowcases filled with his peaches.
Idiota couldn't outrun us children!
He liked his horses, se é que me entendes!
Can a poem tell you how beautiful minha Mãe was?
Her bare feet dancing the Virá
on the greenest grass you'd ever see.
Her hair, preto veludo above us. I held her hand
& tried moving like her, como o vento.
I wrote a poem once. To father.
Said if he ever touched minha Mãe again
Eu socá-lo em seu pau pequeno!
He read it & threw his garrafa de vinho
at my face. This scar is the only presente
he ever gave me. He left us shortly after.
I've outlived him trinta anos.
Agora eu segurar a mão da minha neta
e ensiná-la a Virá.
That's enough poetry for me!