issue 28 > poetry > slavitt

What a comfort it is, when I am sad
and it has been raining for many days in my soul,
to think that I could get away from all this,
pack my suitcase, or never mind my suitcase,
and go to the ice-cream parlors of Cochabamba.

The sound of a guitar in the gentle night,
the fragrances of frangipani and bougainvillea ,
the cries of parrots, and the laughter of young girls
will congratulate me for the boldness of my dreams
when I sit in an ice-cream parlor in Cochabamba.

With mustachioed grandees and señoritas,
with donkey carts that are decked with fresh-cut flowers,
with the twinkling stars above, or the bright moon,
and a perfect climate, how can one not be happy,
at ease in an ice-cream parlor in Cochabamba?