JOLLY NIGHT

I, like a stranded soul,
in your skirt full of folds and flowers, I enter the holes and sew on you.

What did the weakness matter?
A caress of mine came out of the memento mori casket.

All the quivering skin of a mermaid thrown back to the sea,
with that rope that I was holding tight to you, and you who didn't even want to free yourself.

It was intended that I wanted you to stall, in the warmth of that emotion that makes you human,
and then you throw yourself back,
together with the memories of a summer that ended badly.

THE SINGING WHALES

Some time ago, at the entrance of a gym, you could see a sign with a photo of a girl with a spectacular physique where it was written "This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?" It is said that a woman, whose physical appearance is unknown, answered the following question: "Dear Sirs, whales are always surrounded by friends (Dolphins, seals, curious humans), have a very active sex life and breed their children with a lot of tenderness. They have fun like crazy with the dolphins and eat shrimp until they drink. They swim all day and travel to fantastic places like Patagonia, the sea of ​​barens or the coral reefs of Polynesia. They sing incredibly well and sometimes you go so far as to make a cd. They are impressive and much loved animals, which everyone defends and admires. Mermaids do not exist. But if they did exist, would they queue up to consult a psychologist because of a double personality problem, woman or fish? They wouldn't have a sex life and couldn't have children. They would be beautiful, sure, but lonely and sad. Besides, who would want a girl who smells of fish by his side? Without a doubt, I prefer to be a whale. "

THEY STOLE MY BYCICLE

Six years ago a friend of mine gave me his bicycle as a gift and he is gone forever. For three years the bike has always served me: I loaded it like a mule to do the shopping, we went a couple of times away and then around this green area, for months she and I, her bike. For months and miles, it was my car. I remember that she was waiting for me on the last sidewalk of the station when he left. When I left for London it was brought with great difficulty to Padua and when I returned from London I went to pick it up from Padua. It was raining heavily that day, rivers of water lined the streets and the Paduans found a girl in the rain who splashed water everywhere and sang the Christmas song “Jingle bells” in the middle of summer. I was very happy to be able to ride a bike. When I arrived at the station, the track for the bike was the last one, outside the station shelter and so I had to forcefully fit the bike onto the wagon and then pull it up, in the midst of a thousand curses on that last wagon before the locomotive. Unlike the one I have at home, this one was called “Little Mermaid” because during the winter rains of a cold and merciless reverse, I always emerged from the waters on her saddle and stayed afloat. I walked around in sub-zero temperatures and warm socks under my pants. Then one day I went to the library, serene as always, and when I go out I haven’t found her. You took away not only a bike of questionable economic value, and of fundamental practical value, but you also took away a dear memory and a piece of my life. The Little Mermaid was the only memory I had of my friend. Thieves assholes!

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