My comb triumphantly accumulates more of my hair

Lil’ Blues

• For several days
• my heart has shared
• much in common with
• a barbershop,
• the shuttered drugstore,
• and empty parking lot.

5:30 p.m.

• Dirty plates,
• yellow napkins,
• cigarettes, mother-of-pearl ashtrays,
• a once-bitten fruit,
• the mouse caught in a trap,
• echo of laughter in the corner,
• and the slight warmth of chairs:
• daily ruins.

Tuesday’s Door

• This morning
• upon opening the door to Tuesday,
• a yellow dog in winter
• suffering his death throes.
• His eyes
• gaze at something I can’t comprehend,
• something
• that has to do with December
• and not the tepidness of my coffee.
• I am his last vision:
• and before him, I kneel.

Calendar

• There are days
• in which a rage
• viciously tears at
• my armpits,
• and crushes my stomach.
• Days
• in which the routine
• plays itself out
• while my comb
• triumphantly
• accumulates more of my hair

Roberto Castillo Udiarte has written more than a dozen books of poetry, in addition to novels, articles, and short fiction. He has served as the editor of diverse anthologies devoted to literature from Baja California, and his writing has unflinchingly reflected the language and landscape of the border. Known as the first translator of Charles Bukowski’s poetry into Spanish, he has also translated other North American poets, such as Lamantia, Bill Knott, and Robert Jones. Recently, his poetry has been translated into different languages, including a full-length collection of his poetry into English entitled Smooth-Talking Dog, translated by Anthony Seidman.