My baby

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The column of bluish smoke
rises to heaven
fine and ethereal
critical and useless
as my fateful heaviness also does.

Today I was everywhere
tired, exhausted,
I asked
I insisted
I continued
I persisted
without result.

Another day without work,
without money for bread,
without milk for the baby,
without pacifists silences,
with fights and dislikes;
I am better going to the bar!
if I get drunk she does not say anything,
she is afraid of me
when I am drunk,
she quivers when feels my breath …

Yeah, I will better go to the bar,
I’ll take a few wedding dressed beers
and
I’ll forget all the matter about employment.

But, wait!
I have no money,
How can I pay for the drinks?
I do not pay them
somebody drunk enough will bid them to me
if I’ll take conversation out of him
and we’ll chat about women or soccer.

Yes, I am going to the bar better,
and I will forget about the employment
about that mad woman of my wife
about the annoying weeping of my baby…

My baby!
My beautiful baby…

No, I’d better go back home
And I’d take the cascade of reprimands
and then I will go to sleep,
so I’ll get up very early
to seek for a work
in order to give the milk to my baby

My baby!

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