Juan Carlos Flores [Cuba]

THE COFFEEPOT

If they scraped us once more from yardsale to yardsale   since 1962 second hand mutants
mass produced with scarce horsepower thanks to our habitual loads    what trouble would
that behavior cause     the defect returned to the repair shop where supposedly we fix
engines     under clinical supervision we should return to the hard drugs

THE DRYER

There is, south of Havana, between the green and the gold, a place destined for games. A
peaceful site, they say, very good for mutations. I have never been there,
because I fear I would never return. You have never been there, because you fear you
would never return. No one has ever been there. There is, south of Havana, between the
green and the gold, a place destined for games. A peaceful site, they say, very beautiful
because of the mutations.

PARCHED

Dunes, between the rest of companies, where the sea begins, where the dark tracks of the
ducks finish, a brok-en bot-tle, the empty city that was inside, full of fruit, between the
rest of companies, where the sea begins, where the dark tracks of the ducks finish…

CARPET

If not inside because there are sun-seeds, never would we see sparrows on the cold
flagstones, rude fractions, no longer subject to this codex, never would we see sparrows
on the cold flagstones, if not outside, because there are sun-seeds.

ROAD SIGNS

That ladder, function rub, broken steps, won’t function, nailed one after the other,

That ladder, function rub, broken steps, won’t function,

That ladder, function rub, broken steps, won’t function,

That ladder, function rub,

That ladder,

(It deserves an epitaph.

        And here it is)

THE GRASSHOPPER

Imperceptible or almost/ amongst the waste of a senile economy/ the morning rain mixed
with a blizzard/ with the same borders to walk he left/ aimlessly jumping and thinking
and after having doped a little/ he dodged the puddles/ already tired of watching the same
pictures/ a grasshopper and no other stain/ above the surface where time accumulates/
imperceptible or almost/ amongst the waste of a senile economy/ the morning rain mixed
with a blizzard/ with the same borders to walk he left/ aimlessly jumping and after having
doped a little/ he dodged the puddles/ already tired of watching the same pictures/
“something creaked under the support and I felt that over there in the house-cradle the
sphere would twist up, but what can we do, if a block advances towards the junk yards.”

--Translated from the Spanish by Marta Hernández Salván and Jeffrey Thomson