The Phone Call From My Son-In-Law Poem by Alexandro Johns

After fifteen years
without seeing my daughter's eyes,
a man's voice offered me by phone
if I wanted to share the diapers
with a beautiful grandson:

It was a carnal brushstroke
making a graffiti
in the faded painting
of my superego.

But I couldn't afford
that much sweetness,
even though the voice
of my alleged son-in-law,
(Yankee of big feet) ,
spoke to me in Spanish.

That day I was alone,
facing an imaginary cake,
surrounded by ghosts with wig;
they livened my birthday seventy-two.