ODE TO THE URGE
Urination is the major accomplishment of engineering
at least insofar as drainage is concerned.
Furthermore, to urinate is a pleasure.
What’s there to say? One takes a leak
saluting love and friends,
one spills himself long into the throat of the world
to remind himself we’re warm inside, and to stay tuned up.
All this is important
now that the world’s emitting disaster signals,
intoxicated hiccups.
Because it’s necessary, for pure love of life, to urinate
on the silver service,
on the seats of sports cars,
in swimming pools with underwater lights
worth easily 15 or 16 times more than their owners.
To urinate until our throats ache,
right down to the last drops of blood.
To urinate on those who see life as a waltz,
to scream at them, Long live the Cumbia, señores,
Everybody up to shake his ass,
until we shake off this mystery we are
and the fucked-up love of suffering it.
And long live the Jarabe Zapateado too,
because reality is in the back and to the right,
where you don’t go wearing a tux.
(Nobody’s yet gotten rid of TB by beating his chest.)
I’m pissing down from the manger of life:
I just want to be the greatest pisser in history,
Oh Mama, for the love of God, the greatest pisser in history.Ricardo Castillo
(Translated from Spanish by Robert L. Jones)