THE FRIENDS Poem by Mario Rivero

Sometimes I ask myself what became of my friends
after all these days
that have let fall their ashes.

Those who lived in the barracks
by the river, a dirty river that divides the city
in two slices of grass
where slow women with great feet
carry bundles of rags on their heads.

The one with the blue and the worn-out cap
who worked cleaning looms
His father was a mechanic
and he too wanted to be a mechanic
I'm sure both go on
eating their daily sandwiches
and that their only love is screws.
The skinny one with the bicycle
envied by all
because he had so many Charles Atlas magazines
and used to say he could lift a hundred kilos.
He had a girlfriend and he didn't like clouds.
After many cities,
towers of iron, boulevards
women with gaudy make-up on the corners
in the restaurants, etc., where everyone
is a bit lonely
they don't know each other
but they look at each other
they bet on horses in front of the TV set
at weekends
and want to go to the sea.

I go on looking from my papers
at the girl who used
to lean against the lamppost.