New kid on the block

DEAF-MUTES IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD

There is a family of deaf-mutes

In my neighborhood.

They live in a run-down house,

They have a red curtain on the second floor window

And you can hear their doorbell anywhere in the block.

The street lamp in front of their house

Blinks every five minutes.

It keeps its only eye closed

For a while

And then looks yellow again,

And nothing has changed.

The neighbor next door

Is a teenager with tainted skin.

She puts out easy

And likes to have many boyfriends

At the same time.

She says she's bad

And that school is a bore.

The deaf-mutes in my neighborhood

Wear scarves indoors

And I wonder if they hate their mouths

That only eat

But never speak.

My teenage neighbor

Has a big dog that she walks at night.

The dog doesn't have a leash

But a rope.

She looks out her window

And makes sure that children are safe

Riding their bikes.

The deaf-mutes have heated discussions

From the window onto the street.

They wave their hands around

With serious grimaces on their faces;

The speed of their speech

Vanishes unheard of

In the rain and the sun.

The neighbor with the dog

Recently got a cat

That she keeps on a leash.

She flashes her legs around,

Gives mid-afternoon blowjobs in the bushes

And wiggles her ass tempting trash men,

Horny schoolboys and corner-store clerks.

I have never seen the deaf mutes

Engage in acts of love,

Not a kiss on the cheek or a stroke on a tired shoulder.

They wear dirty t-shirts in the house

And the men arrive at dinner time

Looking puzzled and silent.

The teenager next door

Goes up to her terrace and blasts the radio station hits

And dances seductively for her little sister,

They laugh like apes at the DJ's remarks.

She unnecessarily sweeps the entrance to her house

In very tight shorts

With a naughty look to go with the broom.

The deaf-mutes from the run-down house

Attend service Wednesdays and Saturdays

At the Jehovah temple down the street.

The adults put on ties and dresses

And children polish their shoes and tuck in their shirts.

They heave the heavy briefcase

And greet cordially other believers

With nods and smiles and shakes of hands.

The believers watch them parade in

And mimic their silence

Until they can't be heard speaking normally again.

The girl

Goes to mass every Sunday with her mom

Who sleeps the rest of the week.

Her step-father brutally disapproves of everything she doesn't do

And welcomes suitors with open doors

And early evening hospitality,

Hoping they will somehow

Help out to make ends meet.

The deaf-mutes

Have a loud doorbell and a run-down house;

The loud and run-down femme fatale next door

Has a dog on a rope and a cassette player on her terrace.

They sometimes cross each other in the store

Scavenging for tomatoes, onion and eggs.

They don't share a look,

They don't exchange a glance.

They just live on the same street

And ignore the sunset.

FEDERICO AC.

24.08.2KX1