Triqui-Traca

Her flashy Buenos Aires attitude faded away
with the last sad piano;
one distant and tanned afternoon,
through the esses of that alley...
and a scent of mint and basil
and a hand closing the gate,
and a heavy rolling, bang, bang,
crying,
that went through God's streets...

Bang, bang, bang
with its basil scent...
bang, bang, bang,
the shack is far away.
Sad,
the old fog
and the old streetlight wait for him on the corner...
his snail-like pace...
bang, bang, bang...

He was a bit of the crazy outsider
who swings in the afternoon like a partridge,
with the short houses and the wall,
and a silence dressed in gray...
he no longer shouts selling his basil,
he no longer brings out his voice with a knife,
he's not as happy as yesterday,
that went through God's streets.