Los Surveyors

My whole body’s already a
Broken nose, bar  
               
                          The Hands –

In the palms dawn & dusk behind, alert, they ‘been there forever, waiting to break

                           My Fall.

(Y es por eso que uno reza manos juntas al pecho:
así están listas para desplegarse con el impacto)[1]

                              *

          Born brown, to fall brown, on all four now

Like a lunar probe, I’m transmitting data
To mother, so she can confirm 

                     Ay, mijo ya se aterrizó también 
                     By the deli
                     In the dark
                     In the docks
                     In Amarillo
                     Nunca tuvo suerte mijo tampoco  

                              *

And our bad teeth street is dotted
With boy & girl landers – younger ones their heads raised still – so that

People play blitz chess on our windswept backs, have rosé 
In summer, too, till someone removes us little mesas, and makes room
Para la siguiente generación.

____________________

[1]“And that’s why you pray clasped hands to the chest: so they’re ready to deploy on impact”. 

Daniel Aristi was born in Spain. He studied French Literature as an undergrad (French Lycée in San Sebastian). He now lives and writes in Brussels, with his wife, two children and a white cat. Daniel’s work is forthcoming or has been recently featured in Dewpoint, decomP, Temenos Journal and Main Street Rag.