Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

José Manuel Arango

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Those whose job it is to wash the streets
(they get up early, so God helps them)
find on the stones, every other day, puddles of blood

And they also wash them: it is their job
Fast
so that the first passers-by don’t step on them

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Los que tienen por oficio lavar las calles

Los que tienen por oficio lavar las calles
(madrugan, Dios les ayuda)
encuentran en las piedras, un día y otro, regueros de sangre

Y la lavan también: es su oficio
Aprisa
no sea que los primeros transeúntes la pisen
Close

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Those whose job it is to wash the streets
(they get up early, so God helps them)
find on the stones, every other day, puddles of blood

And they also wash them: it is their job
Fast
so that the first passers-by don’t step on them

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Those whose job it is to wash the streets

Those whose job it is to wash the streets
(they get up early, so God helps them)
find on the stones, every other day, puddles of blood

And they also wash them: it is their job
Fast
so that the first passers-by don’t step on them
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