Vos viviste en los tiempos del cuco, Maquieira
en el barrio del Falcón de la bolsa,
ahí, donde usaban el parquet
para el fuego de los asados
y cruzaban los cables
para que canten hasta los más guapos
Tu mamá le rezaba todas las noches a Perón y Evita,
ella te enseñó, que si venía la llorona,
mejor quedarse piola y abajo de la cama,
no pagaba hacerse el héroe, Maqueira
vos abajo, aguantando mihjito
hasta que las botas se vayan
Desde ahí viste como se la llevaba la cana
de ella no quedaron nombres, ni libros, ni tumba,
ni padre que te diera apellido,
sólo ese ahogo
con el que buscás
la sombra de tus ojos,
en las fotos que llevan
las madres de la plaza.
Poema publicado en nuestra quinta revista de Literatura y Artes.
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