Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Washington Cucurto

The Photocopier

The convenience store is rough as the
elements.
So I turn on the photocopier. Its light
snubs out all the frigidity of the place.
At times it blinds me.
(Like the lights of cars
that turn the corner.)

I mix a Fanta with a Quilmes.
I hear no one:
I remember the first time I
kissed you, last summer, by
an overgrown field ruled by
so many crickets.

La fotocopiadora

La fotocopiadora

El Kiosco es tan duro como
la intemperie.
Por lo tanto enciendo la
fotocopiadora, su luz apaga
toda la frialdad del local.
Por momentos me ciega.
(Como las luces de los autos
que doblan la esquina.)
Mezclo una fanta y una quilmes.
A nadie escucho:
recuerdo la primera vez que te
besé, el verano pasado, cerca
de una pastizal donde reinaban
todos los grillos.
Close

The Photocopier

The convenience store is rough as the
elements.
So I turn on the photocopier. Its light
snubs out all the frigidity of the place.
At times it blinds me.
(Like the lights of cars
that turn the corner.)

I mix a Fanta with a Quilmes.
I hear no one:
I remember the first time I
kissed you, last summer, by
an overgrown field ruled by
so many crickets.

The Photocopier

The convenience store is rough as the
elements.
So I turn on the photocopier. Its light
snubs out all the frigidity of the place.
At times it blinds me.
(Like the lights of cars
that turn the corner.)

I mix a Fanta with a Quilmes.
I hear no one:
I remember the first time I
kissed you, last summer, by
an overgrown field ruled by
so many crickets.
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