Flores En Su Entierro

For the Basque Bigarrena, (he would know why.)
Except for those of the imagination
he had lost all the battles.
One Sunday without soccer he told us,
defeated, that he was throwing in the towel
and no one believed him.
But, this time, he wasn't bluffing;
the next day he grabbed a rope
and instead of saying a prayer,
he told the world to go to hell
and hung himself from a 'drunk stick'.
He owed 'a grand and a half' in rent,
he left as an inheritance a verse by Neruda,
a bowl with paper eyelashes
floating in the coffee
and a sickly and widowed guitar.
He invested what little he had
in a luxury bone for the dog
and in paying cash for the best
crown he could find...
so there would be flowers at his funeral.
Twenty years ago I met him
in London, conspiring against Franco.
He was the king of hashish oil
and he was more excited to rob a bank
than the May of Paris.
In Florida I saw him for the last time
in his anachronistic and withered suit;
studying the menu of a cabaret
'-There's food, my favorite dish!'
he shouted to mess around.
He owed 'a grand and a half' in rent,
he left as an inheritance a verse by Neruda,
a tear from Lili Marlen
floating in the coffee
and a sickly and widowed guitar.
He invested what little he had
in a luxury bone for the dog
and in paying cash for the best
crown he could find...
so there would be flowers at his funeral.
It seems like yesterday when he left
to the neighborhood behind the stars,
death, who is jealous and a woman,
took a liking to him
and took him to sleep with her forever.