Miguel

Cuando Miguel volvió de Afganistán era una persona completamente cambiada. Sus historias pueden ser oídas si precisa un corte de pelo masculino al estilo militar. Enfrente del Travertino se encuentra su pequeño negocio. Amigos intímos que conocieron a Miguel antes de la guerra contaban que su sueño era ser bailarín de claqué, de hecho se le daba de maravilla. Su hermana solía tocar canciones de charleston y Miguel las interpretaba bailando. Una de las historias que contaba, a cualquiera que se prestase a escucharle, era la de cuando consiguió salir de un campo de minas con vida gracias a la danza. Interesante don le había dado dios, y le salvó el pellejo en varias ocasiones. Personas cercanas a Miguel afirmaban que tras la guerra había adquirido extrañas costumbres tales como hacerles cortes estilo militar a todos y cada uno de los que pasaban por la peluquería, pero nadie rechistaba. Otra costumbre peculiar era la de desayunar todos los días vainas rellenas de mantequilla de cierva y mojarlas en té con bicarbonato, pero eso parecía ser más bien un problema familiar. También adquirió algunos vicios, casi inevitables cuando uno se encuentra en condiciones como son las estar en medio de una guerra: Se aficionó demasiado al olor de napalm (solo podía sentirse atraído por mujeres que huelan a tal), rechazó la heroína, sin embargo nadie pudo librarle de los pistachos, su familia le ha tratado de ayudar mucho con este último vicio, pero la guerra es así.

Thick As A Brick.

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.

My words but a whisper - your deafness a SHOUT.

I may make you feel but I can't make you think.

Your sperm's in the gutter - your love's in the sink.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and

you make all your animal deals and

your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in

the tidal destruction

the moral melee.

The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers

the newfangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels and

your suntan does rapidly peel and

your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:

I'm a bad dream that I just had today - and you

shake your head and

say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.

Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.

Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there!  A son is born - and we pronounce him fit to fight.

There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.

We'll

make a man of him

put him to trade

teach him

to play Monopoly and

to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water

as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.

The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other

as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.

The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling

but the master of the house is far away.

The horses stamping - their warm breath clouding

in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.

And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family is moving with authority.

Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river

where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:

the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose

and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.

The young men of the household have

all gone into service and

are not to be expected for a year.

The innocent young master - thoughts moving ever faster

has formed the plan to change the man he seems.

And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family is moving with authority.

Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.

What do you do when

the old man's gone - do you want to be him?  And

your real self sings the song.

Do you want to free him?

No one to help you get up steam

and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam.

carta

A young person will always

remember the time when 

two ships are side by side

in the middle of the sea

and hopes that one day they

may put down their anchors

on the same harbour.