TATUAJE
Lo que una vez quiso ser una declaración
-una daga que gotea sostenida por el puño
de un corazón estremecido- ahora es sólo un cardenal
en un huesudo hombro viejo, la mancha
donde la vanidad una vez lo golpeó fuerte
y el dolor perduró. Parece alguien
con quien tendrías que vértelas,
fuerte como un semantal, rápido e intratable,
pero en esta mañaa fría, caminando
entre las mesas de un mercadillo
con las mangas de su ceñida camiseta negra
remangadas para recordarnos lo que fue,
es un viejo cualquiera, que levanta
herramientas rotas y las vuelve a poner en su sitio,
su corazón ya blando y azul de historias.
TATTOO
What once was meant to be a tatement-
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart -is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache ligered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled upo to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft an blue with stories.
What once was meant to be a tatement-
a dripping dagger held in the fist
of a shuddering heart -is now just a bruise
on a bony old shoulder, the spot
where vanity once punched him hard
and the ache ligered on. He looks like
someone you had to reckon with,
strong as a stallion, fast and ornery,
but on this chilly morning, as he walks
between the tables at a yard sale
with the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt
rolled upo to show us who he was,
he is only another old man, picking up
broken tools and putting them back,
his heart gone soft an blue with stories.
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