Happy Hour

Five in the morning in a dime a dozen pub.

The good specimens have left with their hand

                                        on a gym bicep with tits.

The same Martians always remain.

They have lifted the ban

                                        on hunting drunks

                                        who try to exchange a drink

                                                                   for a quick role in the sack.

We are all beautiful at five

                          with our mascara running       and our lips worn out.

The guardian angel has gone out for tobacco:

                                        no one wants to sleep beside an empty space.

Translated by Curtis Bauer
“Happy Hour” is from Nanas para hombres grises (Lullabies For Grey Men) (Diputación de Huelva, 2006).

You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.