VERY BAD POEM

20 06 2010

PHOTO: SILVIA CORBELLE BATISTA

Listening to Mariela Castro at UNEAC

In one of those homeopathic fights against Cuban homophobia

Seeing her laugh cleanly and neatly

With the guerilla but bourgeois graciousness of her young mother in the ’50s

Caressing the microphone like a miracle

In her hands synonymous with the New Woman

Savoring the rhetoric of her plurisex vision

In the uncritical and monotone heart of a cultural institution

Listening to Mariela Castro at UNEAC

I think of all the great queers

Who lived the history of the male hymen on this island

Guys muted in the first crackdowns

And then imprisoned in the blind man’s bluff

At the start lumpens and later auctioned leukopenics

Bodies that don’t fit in the canon of prudish but promiscuous Cuba

Scheming bitches parameterized in a poem of the virgin Piñera

Closet compañeros of every materialist and dialectic class

Glamour of three by ass with gum

Sucking a barbed wire tit in UMAP in the ’60’s

Sweeping undertakers or like bathroom custodians

Bearers of their own comfortless cadavers

Accomplices in cinemas or crappy dawn buses

Death-defying at the real-socialist theater of the macho years

Little lives narrated by no one in the world’s little revolutionary grandstand

Listening to Mariela Castro at UNEAC

In one of those homeopathic Cuban tantrums against homophobia

In the same chapel where Padilla was hetero pissed off

At the request of the political police in the ’70s

I think of all this uncivil society of the pleasure of liberty

Dissidents of desire like an indoor curse

Until fleeing the paraplegic country in a toilet paper raft in the ’80’s

Or waiting for the process of rectification of straights and negative tendencies

Lined up for free dentures in a polyclinics in the ’90’s

Aging without being invited to the Party Congress in the zero years

Buried in the sacred ground of the postproletariot world

Agreeable and bitter

Calling on Parliament to prune their patriot penises

Without a parade

Without a movie

Without a poem

To vomit all the unjust human time that touched them

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