The town hasn’t changed much.
The same pets smell the sun,
the same dust covers your shoulders, my dear,
the same eternal muzak plays in the cafes,
the same tarot decks are shuffled incessantly over the tables,
the same taxi drivers are waiting for a train to arrive.
But now the residents always walk barefoot
and buy much more hats, gloves and toothpaste than before.
There’s plenty of conceptual art on the streets
indistinguishable from utilitarian objects,
and mind you, when I say plenty,
it is plenty enough to destroy your faith,
or at least to make you laugh.
All the flags and banners have been burned and buried in the air.
People find themselves inside the churches,
shouting if anybody’s there,
but they invariably hear nothing
except maybe some distant barking now and then;
they stumble upon each other and cuss.
Even if they have a story to tell, they no longer need it.