Opens the eye wide, and shows the tusk
That hurt animal,
When the knife stuck in it,
Ending his life…
So, his body
Will serve as a transitory monument.
For his voracious appetite…it got so fat…
That he no longer fits…
In his cement bed.
It’s time…
My dear element…
That in a kitchen…
Your leg, or your head…
Or who knows…
What part of your body,
Serves as monument.
It is your destiny…
Die to be at the best table,
And be tasted by delicate palates…
That not even close
Have come to be…
Of what your dwelling were.
Your chubby posture is famous…
And the fatter…
your figure is finer.
There is nothing left of you…
Everything is consumed…
From the fresh jam
For the refined lady…
To the dark pig’s hoof,
That in some pot
With potatoes and rice, it is squeezed.
Even your entrails are in between frying pots,
With rich lemon scent…
To kill the smell roast,
And discover the taste…
Of the well-known pork crackling.
It’s sad, but it’s true…
That you are born to be fat…
And at any age…
You can be chosen
To decorate the best table.
Everyone knows you…
But not by your strength…
Or because of your fierceness…
Or even because of your cunning…
Because…you have a reputation for being a brute…
Everyone knows you…
For your peculiar taste…
Unique flavor.
Reputation for aggressive…
You do not have it…!!!
Because you always run away when you can,
And if you are not possessive…
Who knows if perhaps vindictive?
“Revenge is sweet…”
Says the adage,
And so sweet it is…
That the victims of your anger…
Don’t die of fright…
They die imitating your voracious taste for the food.
But unlike you…
Your victims die slowly…
Every day… little by little…
Until it no longer fits,
Your fat through their veins.
Behold your revenge…
That’s why maybe your mocking smile…
Always on your face…
That even if you are confronting
Imminent death…
It seems that you are making fun
Of all the people.
Ricardo Vidal
