Monday, August 17, 2009

Wretched City



Going down Javier Prado I started choking again on the sorry excuse for air coming in my taxi’s window and I thought:





Why is there always traffic in this wretched city?
Why can’t I find your redemption?
Beaches should redeem but clouds and pollution fall short.
How many shades of grey could possibly exist?
Your billboards are unbecoming.
Your air is unbreathable.
Wretched, wretched city, If only I could treasure you
As the campesino immigrants havening from the war.
If only I appreciated your survivalist spirit.
But I resent you…for wanting a future and not carefully preserving your past
With tissue paper, packing peanuts and romanticism for the cholitas that still live
Instead of those defeated Incans, torn to the four winds.
With regret for my bitter heart and your heavy grey sky, I take the best of you with me.
But Burro’s Belly, why couldn’t I love you?


And disappointed I asked the driver to roll up the window. Just then we passed by their little Pentagon. Admiring how its neighborhood had become an exercise zone with running trails and chin-up bars. The mere existence of its well-kept grass is surely the envy of other neighborhoods. I had heard that during terrorism, the president had once barricaded himself inside its 5 walls. Certainly he must have feared the treason of his own blood-thirsty military as much as the ruthless terrorist outside. It must have been frightening for everyone I thought. It somehow made smog seem less important and my opinions about the city’s ascetics too.

3 comments:

Ian said...

for real, quit griping 'bout petty stuff and tell us some more funny stories

Anonymous said...

Just exactly what is it that you do in that wretched city? Perhaps you should take a bus to a cleaner local. :)

Sarah said...

You better write another entry before you stop writing about Latest from Lima!