Bachata in which I Try to Keep You from Crying 

by Mario Alejandro Ariza
Black humor of history the sea is restless tonight hurled against breakers foaming at shoals fish flirting with
full moons squid dancing in lights whereas I am a pillar of salt a poor house of charred wood a tired
scummy city whose destruction is craved I told you cierra los ojitos Chiquita I told you I too have no idea
what the fuck is going on here all the land is dying around us the cangrejos popped open like mashed
flowers on the road the cranes stuck in the middle of their elliptic flight si te callas si paras de llorar
Chiquita you can hear the names of the trees being erased from the books you can hear someone getting
rich it sounds like someone getting off and then going home on the one good road in a nice big car and I
guess que esto es pa’ asegurar that they do not make off with your dreams as you damn that pueblito with
its dunes and dry lightning its cadaverous goats and soot riverbeds its closed at noon colmados and tight as
a closed fist mindset how the fuck would the tiguéres selling gasolina from glass coke bottles on the
highway’s costado know what a multinational is Chiquita even if one came and dumped fly ash in the bay
bone cancer common as street trash forty babies born with no arms just this year no llores instead let us
pray now at the hour of first dark when dogs bark cold stars out of the dusk los choked ríos will never be
rivers again the black Mercedes are coming to take us into the totalitarian night and there may yet be green
viboras thick as your thighs asleep in the dark ruins of your mother’s burnt out house.