Poem By Washington Cucurto

Today I went to Lavalle Street to exchange some dollars.
Or, better said, "I went to exchange some dollars on Lavalle."
It could be the same sentence, but it isn't,
whenever dollars get in front of something,
they can't be equal.

How Lavalle street had changed!
No longer was the straight-edge guy
who would sunbathe in the Mac Donalds
on the 900 block of Avenida Florida all aflower.

I hate dollars and that's why I exchange them.
I don't want them with me at home,
feeding into my saver's fantasies that don't mean
a damn thing. Watching over my kids' sleep
by night and early mornings. Dollars are monsters-
a plague that's no good to have in your house.
This is why I exchange them!

Spring is coming soon, Ramoncito,
we'll have a few dollars-turned-pesos
to spend together on Lavalle Street.

I hadn't ever seen Lavalle so jammed with poor people and beggars, with pale tourists
sick with money.
No one loves money more than tourists - that's why I hate them, Ramoncito!

We'll eat an ice cream, we'll go to the pizzerias
and in the used bookstores we'll buy a best-seller from the past.
Ramoncito, Spring is at the door,
but you don't see it. You're in your mothers' belly.
Soon, as we know, your brothers and sisters will come out
and I remember you and I adore you, Ramon Vega!

We'll go pee in the bars:
The pathological liar anthropologist guy
with the gelled back hair, reading a Sur edition
in Alberto Girri's Cafe wasn't there anymore.
Ramoncito, this is Alberto Girri!
Ramón, this is Arturo Carrera drinking his gin and tonic!
The national poet gifts us a beautiful little book:
Telones zurcidos para títeres con hímen!

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Other poems of CUCURTO


Ucraniana, alta, demoledora, reparte volantes de Radio Taxi,
hasta las tres de la tarde cuando cambia su puesto a su hijo.
Ucraniano, alto, demoledor, 19 años.
Svenja vive en un hotel de la calle Sarmiento, pero nunca supe bien cual.
"Para qué quiere tú saber mi hogar".
Su marido se llama Pablo, ucraniano, alto, rubio, demoledor.
Tardes enteras la esperé a las tres de la tarde,
el hijo sabía que me raspaba a la madre, no le importaba.
Él buscaba a quien raspar.
En lo posible alta, morochaza, ucraniana no, gringa no,
criolla sí, demoledora, sí, sí.


Ukranian woman, tall, ravishing, distributes Radio Taxi flyers
until 3pm when she gives her post to her son.
Ukranian, tall, ravishing, 19 years old.
Svenja lives in a hotel on Sarmiento Street, but I never knew the exact one.
"For why does you want to know my home."
Her husband's name is Pablo, Ukranian, tall, blond, ravishing.
Long afternoons I waited for 3pm,
the son knew I was nailing the mother, he didn't care.
He was looking for someone to nail.
Among the possibilities- tall, darkish, no Ukranians, no Gringas,
natives yes, ravishers, yes, yes.


Cerca de mi casa inauguraron un
Supermercado Coto.
Con una playa de estacionamiento
y frutas y verduras frescas durante
las cuatro estaciones del año.

De noche,
el cartel electrónico de Coto
ilumina toda la vereda y el empedrado.


Near my house they opened a Coto
Supermarket. With a
parking lot and fresh
fruits and vegetables all through the
Four seasons.

At night,
Coto's electric sign
lights up the whole
sidewalk and cobblestone street.


El Kiosco es tan duro como
la intemperie.
Por lo tanto enciendo la
fotocopiadora, su luz apaga
toda la frialdad del local.
Por momentos me ciega.
(Como las luces de los autos
que doblan la esquina.)
Mezclo una fanta y una quilmes.
A nadie escucho:
recuerdo la primera vez que te
besé, el verano pasado, cerca
de una pastizal donde reinaban
todos los grillos.


The convenience store is rough as the
So I turn on the photocopier. Its light
snubs out all the frigidity of the place.
At times it blinds me.
(Like the lights of cars
that turn the corner.)

I mix a Fanta with a Quilmes.
I hear no one:
I remember the first time I
kissed you, last summer, by
an overgrown field ruled by
so many crickets.