LODGING HOUSE Poem by Federico Díaz-Granados

I've never met the lodgers of my life.
I've never known when they come in or out,
or in what unknown station they give rest to their miseries.
Women have gone out of this body slamming the door,
complaining about my sadness,
and in some seasons they've grumbled about the humidity,
about too much cold, or some strange mildew in the cupboard.

They always go away without paying, the lodgers of my life,
and once again there is no one on the patio
of this lodging house where it is always night.