I watch the nappy twilight on the window,
my grandma is setting the table and is making my bed.
There are some leftover pies on the table,
I eat another one,
the burned wick lamp looks tired,
there’s more light outside than it’s inside,
I go to sleep.
After the night got away from the window,
the stars fall from the trees across the street,
the death passes by on the road.

The children are waiting for me at the crossroad,
the older one, ragged and with a big nose
grabbed the pie from my hand,
the other ones are laughing, nothing has happened,
they told me there’s a good friend
that protects us from the bad children,
and this one was measuring me from the corner of the eye
and was benevolently grinning.

Grandpa, that apparently knew him,
asked him whose he was and what he was doing,
I told him I didn’t know, he comes from off the street,
... aha, he said, don’t argue with him
poor guy, he’s your friend, if you respect him,
and he left do his business.

I ran forward to play.