Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Robinson Quintero

BUTCHER

It was my grandfather’s trade He bustled about
all day among the flies
and quartered livestock
his hands soaked in blood

My child’s eyes soon got used
to looking at his sharp knives
and his stained old apron
without repulsion

A skillful town butcher
he worked well

Without minding his offensive
and impure appearance
he prefered to joke as he handled
the meat with pleasure

He wrapped it in plantain leaves
carefully
as if instead of small slices
he were wrapping
the fat first fruits of a god

CARNICERO

CARNICERO

Fue el oficio de mi abuelo Trajinaba el día
entre moscas
y reses descuartizadas
con las manos empapadas en sangre

Mis ojos de niño se acostumbraron pronto
a mirar sin repulsión sus cuchillos
afilados
y su bata manchada por el uso

El ducho carnicero de pueblo
lo hacía bien

Sin importarle su apariencia
ofensiva e impura
prefería bromear mientras servía
con gusto

Y en hojas jóvenes de plátano envolvía
la venta
con esmero
como si en vez de lonjas al por menor envolviera
robustas primicias de un dios
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BUTCHER

It was my grandfather’s trade He bustled about
all day among the flies
and quartered livestock
his hands soaked in blood

My child’s eyes soon got used
to looking at his sharp knives
and his stained old apron
without repulsion

A skillful town butcher
he worked well

Without minding his offensive
and impure appearance
he prefered to joke as he handled
the meat with pleasure

He wrapped it in plantain leaves
carefully
as if instead of small slices
he were wrapping
the fat first fruits of a god

BUTCHER

It was my grandfather’s trade He bustled about
all day among the flies
and quartered livestock
his hands soaked in blood

My child’s eyes soon got used
to looking at his sharp knives
and his stained old apron
without repulsion

A skillful town butcher
he worked well

Without minding his offensive
and impure appearance
he prefered to joke as he handled
the meat with pleasure

He wrapped it in plantain leaves
carefully
as if instead of small slices
he were wrapping
the fat first fruits of a god
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